The Nth Hunger Games: Nightmare City
by packman23
Summary: CLOSED! 24 District kids. 12 Capitol kids. Claudius Templesmith narrates the 95th Hunger Games and, surprise, it's Quell Year! Can you survive the crumbling buildings of Nightmare City, or will you take up the once in a lifetime chance to die horribly?
1. The Quell

**An Important Message from your friends at...**

**The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games**

"Hello people of Panem! I'm Claudius Templesmith and welcome, welcome, welcome to the Ninety Fifth Annual Hunger!

"You join us here at HGTV at a very special time this year because, not only is this a Hunger Games, but this is also a Quell year! That's right a Quell year! How can it be a Quell year, I here you ask? Simple, we're the Capitol! We get to decide when we have Quell years and, in celebration of the twenty fifth anniversary of the death of our greatest enemy, the so called Mockinjay, we decided to call a Quell!" He bends forwards towards the screen and gives one of his famous winks, putting one hand to his mouth so that it looks like he's whispering. "So, here's the lowdown. I'm out here on the beautiful, Capitol owned island that houses 'Nightmare City'! What's Nightmare City? Simple! Nightmare City is the worlds first and so far only open air Hunger Games Arena! That's right I said open air! With it's over hanging skyscrapers, crumbling houses and more than a little frightening wails and moans coming from all over, it's the perfect place to play out the Games. And it's such an easy Games to play as well, tributes simply have to make it out of the city, alive mind, to be crowned victor, regardless of how many tributes have already done the same! Prize money and size of mansion will be split in a tie, so guys, try not to have too many victors! Three or four max, if it's all the same to you guys." Claudius throws his head back and gives a booming laugh. He spins on his toes as the cameras zoom in on a little box, held by a wide eyed ten year old Capitol boy in a white costume, who is clearly in awe of the mighty tv personality and example to all Capitol men. Claudius ruffles the boy's hair and wraps his arm around him, pausing until he hears the flash of cameras and the cheer of the audience, before straightening up and pulling the lid up on the box. His perpetual smile widens, as he revels in the honour of being allowed to read the 'Quell card', as he called them, himself this year. An unheard of achievement normally and one that had past him by the previous three times, primarily because he had only been three years old when the second quell had come around and hadn't even existed for the first, so it hadn't just been because Snow was a traditionalist prude (although Claudius had wondered). Fortunately the President had insisted. The 'New Games' deserved a new touch, she had said, and Claudius was glad to oblige, no matter how old he was in reality. 'One up on Caesar', Claudius had thought, 'We'll see who ranks highest in the popularity polls this year!' Second place, please, who had they thought they were kidding?

'It is just fortunate,' Claudius thinks to himself as his hand swoops into the box, 'That botox and various other Capitol preservatives have rendered me all but immortal, otherwise I would never have got this chance!' He twirls the delicate paper with the 95 label on it between his fingers, and winks at the audience who take a sharp intake of breath. Several even swoon. The older one's mostly, Claudius notices with some disappointment. The paper feels crisp and new, having only been cooked up by the senate a few years before, as a celebration of the death of Katniss Everdeen at the hands of a sniper. He flicks his wrist, deftly pulling the paper open, and turns to the audience as he begins to read the card in his loudest and most heroic voice.

"This year's Quell, ladies and Gentlemen!_ 'To remind the Districts of their utter subservience to this great nation and of the injustice leveled upon us all during both the Dark Days and the rule of President Coin, both Capitol and District children will be chosen on Reaping day so that the District's may meet the children who they have harmed with their actions!_" The audience look around in bemusement and Claudius flashes them a worried smile, before turning his attention back to the card "_'The tributes chosen from the Districts will be expected to chose a name from a golden reaping ball, which will contain the names of Capitol citizens, either male or female, between the ages of twelve and eighteen, who will be joining them on an all expenses payed trip to Central Panem, to experience all the glory, honor and excitement of the Ninty Fifth Hunger Games first hand!'_ Wow! That's some prize! Sure is a good day to be a teen, huh? A chance of a lifetime. A ticket for you to meet the tributes face to face, and interact with them during the Games! Have fun out there kids and, as always, may the odds be forever in your favor!"


	2. D1: Three in One

A/N: I have some horrible news. I have decided to spend time writing the reapings, so that I can properly introduce the characters. I know everyone wants to get to the bloodshed, but you have to go through the bloodhouse first to get there! I felt all these characters deserved a proper introduction, so it'll be three reapings a chapter for twelve chapters. Watch out guys, this one's long! Thanks to everyone who is still reading my first SYOT, and of course thanks to owlchicka, who is my assistant-assistant Games Makers for this project!

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><p>These first tributes are courtesy of Mockingjay1 (Altair Blade- a character where I was given a lot of leeway with his history and how he was written, making him a very interesting character to write), owlchicka (Faiza Tahti- a wonderful tribute who lives up to my expectations of such a good writer, with a lot of detail and options) and laralulu (Verity Marx- A very fun character to write, although I must say I found her initially hard to write, I hope I have done this character justice).<p>

At the moment I'm experimenting with first person writing, sort of like you'd find in a normal Games. I don't think I'm very good at it yet, but I'm not the one who'll be reviewing! What do you guys think of this chapter?

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><p><strong>The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**District One**

_Altair Blade age 17_

It's hard to be me sometimes. Don't get me wrong, I love my life, I honestly wouldn't change it for the world but, really, it can just get so tiresome.

I groan inwardly, releasing my grip and letting the short blond woman slump onto the counter in front of me. She lets out a wretched moan as I turn and I grimace. She shouldn't have done that. I spin on my heel, bringing my foot round into her face and sending her crashing into the wall. She slides down it and lies there, unconscious Don't feel sorry for her, she deserved it. It's what you get when you don't respect one of District One's largest and most powerful organizations, the Silver Knife. She had it coming. She knew she had it coming so why didn't she just pay up? Why don't these people ever learn that they need to pay if they want to purchase any of our 'produce'? I don't know what she bought, they didn't tell me, but it's my job to kick it out of her, not to ask questions. It's always like this. You go to all the trouble of getting these things for someone and they don't even have the decency to pay up! So you teach them a lesson and, next week, when you come back to collect your money they've locked themselves in their house and don't want to come out! Really, it just sickens me how selfish these people can be.

I stoop, gathering up the money we need from her cash register and pocketing it, being careful not to take too much. It would be bad enough just beating these people, but I don't want to be accused of robbery too. A few people glare at me as I pick my way through the shattered glass that litters the store and out into the street. No one does anything to stop me though, or makes me put the money back. They never do. No one touches a member of Silver Knife. Especially not the cousin of a higher up like Damien Blade. My face breaks into a grin as I stomp through the quickly emptying streets. Now this is the bit I like. The fear. Sure, people hate you, the everywhere goes silent as soon as you come near and everyone hides in their houses, poking their guns out of the windows and letterboxes. You know what though? No one ever shoots. Like I said, no one ever messes with a Silver Knife. Because if one goes down he gets back up again, and when he gets up there are always five more with him. They think we're monsters, plain and simple. And you know what else? I like being a monster. Feels pretty good. Better than being in some reject orphanage at any rate!

I stop as I come to the center square that houses the mayor's office, looking around at the small crowds of people gathered around a raised wooden platform in the middle of the square. Streamers and banners fly from every lamppost, young children, Careers in training probably, put each other in headlocks and fight with blunted swords whilst their parents brag about how great their children are. No one seems remotely worried, until they see me that is! They recoil as I draw near, calling their terrified kids over to them. I snort through my nose. I can't help it, it's just so funny! These are the Careers of the future, huh? Pathetic. I know for a fact I could break half of their necks by blowing on them! I stare around, spotting a short, messy haired guy, a couple of years older than me in the corner. Ezio. Well, I call him short but, really, he's a midget. It's not a criticism or anything, dude could probably break my jaw in one punch if I got on his wrong side. I march over to him, smacking him in the shoulder as I draw near, he grins, slamming me in the chest. All in all a warm welcome, better than the terrified silence I get from most guys his size. I smile, reaching for a cigarette and lighting it, before offering him one. He politely refuses, with a quick punch to the stomach and a cry of 'idiot'. There's something else I don't get much of polite.

"Those things can kill you, you know that?" He growls, watching as I stumble back, winded, and straighten up.

"I don't think I have to bother about that." I mutter to him, "I'll probably be dead before my thirtieth birthday, that or card counting and debt collecting for the rest of my life, and that ain't much of an improvement!" What, it's how Silver Knife works, don't judge me just because of what I do.

"Yeah." Ezio laughs, "Just imagine how many you'd need a day to get snuffed off before thirty!" I wince, all to aware of the number. I've done the math and it isn't pretty.

"So, this is the Games this year?" I ask, quickly changing the subject, I look around with a sort of disdainful interest, "Thought it's supposed to be a punishment, not a bloody holiday!" It probably sounds stupid, but everyone's always too happy at this time of the year. Always dreaming of glory or safe in the knowledge that they'll never be picked. The Capitol got it all wrong, see. The Games only works if everyone's scared of their kids being chosen. In District One everyone's training their kids to go and kill themselves anyway, they don't even need the Capitol to tell them to, the first streamers are always up a fortnight before the Capitol. It's kind of funny how willing people are to kill kids if you only give them enough money.

People probably wonder why I'm in a gang when all of District One is apparently so rich. I'd say it's pretty obvious. I'm being a mirror for them. I'm showing them what they've become. I'm not doing anything wrong, nothing more than those Career kids anyway. Hell, I'm doing exactly the same as those kids! I'm just smart. They go for a contest where they've got a one in twenty four chance of dying horribly. I like my odds a little more in my favour thanks, but other than that I'd say we're pretty similar. I'm attacking people who never asked for any trouble, I'm training every waking minute to kill more people and I'm doing it for money, just like those damn kids with their blunt swords. Only difference is mommy and daddy ain't around to tell me to beat people to a bloody pulp, and suddenly I'm a freak! District One is just sick. Am I really the only guy who sees that? Ezio certainly doesn't get it. He just laughs and grins widely, brandishing something under his long coat.

"Yeah, this year's special of course." I prick up my ears and turn to him.

"Special?" I look at him suspiciously. It's not Quell year or anything is it? It should just be another one of those normal Games shouldn't it? God, why does no one ever tell me anything? I mentally slap myself for my stupidity. Why would they tell me? They're all terrified of me anyway!

"Yeah, ain't you heard what the Capitol guy said? As many winners as can make it out. God. don't you watch any TV?" As a matter a fact no, I don't, I think it rots the brain. Ezio doesn't know that of course, I've never told him. He looks at me as my face carves itself into a grin. It's not the prettiest sight around, but I'm pretty sure it gets my message across. Like I said, I like my playing field in my favour. Last man standing is a bit risky for me, all it takes is one nutter and suddenly you're all dead. Anyone can win sounds more like my thing and, like I said, I'm just like those Career guys. Except I'm smarter. So, so much smarter.

I hide my grin beneath my hand as a Peacekeeper finally notices me and Ezio at the back and signs us off, leading me to my section. I can't think straight. I'm just too excited. The world blurs and twists as the mayor, the insanely named Freeking Awesome, blathers his way through the Treaty of Treason. It doesn't mean anything to me, or to the entire District really. Sure we were in the war, but we're not exactly suffering here. The worst that ever happens to us is we go low on food for a day. It isn't like this District's starving or anything. Awesome finishes with a nod, and hands over to the escort, some freak with orange dreadlocks, dyed grey skin and a hooked nose. Never bothered to learn his name, didn't feel worth it really. The man says a couple words and walks his way over to the giant glass ball that holds the names of all the girls in the District. He doesn't need to bother, as soon as he goes to put his hand in it some lanky chick, about my age I'd say, comes blustering out of the crowd yammering gibberish. She's pretty tall, with wavy red hair, a few freckles and big ol' green eyes. She's kind of cute, if you like that sort of thing. I don't. Shame really. I grin slyly at her from the audience, but I don't think she meets my eyes. It's cool. If she had she would know what I'm thinking and then she wouldn't be waving and smiling and preening her hair. She'd probably give in now. Kill herself or step down from volunteering or something. Because I'm thinking. I'm planning for every type of Arena. I'm thinking of every weapon I've ever heard of. I'm going through every Career I've ever seen, and you know what? They're all exactly the same to me. I can use them all, I can kill them all and I will break them! I will break her. It will be easy. Just snap her neck as easily as you'd snap a twig. Up on the stage the Escort congratulates the girl, snapping back over to the second glass ball. I tap the Peacekeeper in front of me on the shoulder and he nods, letting me out into the aisle. I wait for him to call the name, watching as the entire row of Careers move to take the stage. I grin, pushing my way through the crowds and stepping onto the stage. No one tries to stop me, not anyone who knows who I am anyway. A few of the dumber looking Careers get in my way, but I either chuck them out of it again, or Ezio and his boys do it for me. I give a small smile as I step onto the stage. The escort doesn't look surprised, after all it's a Career district, people volunteer.

"I, Altair Blade," I mutter, my voice barely a whisper, "Volunteer for District One." The escort nods, says something and motions for us to shake. I grin, turning to the girl and gripping her hand. I dig my fingers into her hand as we shake and, when I let go I see blood bloom from five little cuts along her hand. She doesn't even wince. She just stands there grinning cockily at me.

What an idiot.

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><p><em>Faiza Tahti age 17<em>

Duck, slash, block, block, slash, slash, slash, duck, slash, miss, swing, upercut.

I stumble backwards and, in an instant, no, half an instant, Carter's sword is resting on my throat. I growl, kicking my foot up at his crotch, hoping to catch him by surprise. Yeah right! He kicks my legs out from under me and grabs me by the hair, throwing me back onto the padded mat behind me and sheathing his sword.

"You're not ready." He mutters, walking over to the weapons rack and replacing the sword. "What?" I shriek at him, throwing my sword to the ground and raising a fist at him. "Why not?" The man folds his arms and raises an eyebrow at me, and I grate my teeth. It's not that I don't like Carter or anything, actually he's one of my better friends, it's just, I've been training for this since my tenth birthday! That's seven years! Nearly half my life! I've shed blood, sweat and tears all over this training center and, every year, he tells me I'm not ready and that I need another year to train right on the day! He doesn't even give me a weeks notice! It's ridiculous!

"You're too uncontrolled." Carter mutters. Yeah, I'll show him uncontrolled. "Maybe next year." Maybe? Maybe! Last year is going to be my last chance! I can't just miss the greatest chance of my life!

I scream at him for about the next five minutes, calling him all sorts of things that I'd prefer not to repeat, before storming out and into the street. How can I not be ready? I'm seventeen and a Career, that already gives me an advantage in the Arena! If he'd just let me train with knives, and not swords, my worst weapon, this morning he would have seen how good I am. So I'm not even the one at fault here! I would tell Rafi, my father, about this if he didn't already plan for me to go into the Games at eighteen, so that I could have as much training as possible beforehand. Well forget him, and forget them all, because Faiza Tahti is volunteering this year and there's nothing anyone else can do about it. I smile, feeling better now that I have mentally spited Carter and Rafi, and sidle up to the Peacekeepers, waiting to have myself marked off.

"F...Fai...Fuh" The Peacekeeper stares at my name, trying to make sense of it on the paper. I glare at him, tapping my foot as I wait for him to get it right, "Fuh-ay-ser Tee-ti?" I wince, that's one bad pronunciation!

"Faiza Tahti." I correct. OK so it's a Capitol name, he should still be able to pronounce it. Just because the other District's think we're all called 'Shimmer' and 'Shiny' doesn't mean we have to have crazy names you know! It means victory in some other language my parents always tell me. Yeah, OK it's a bit pedantic for a District family to give their kids Capitol names, especially one so... grand. It's just like my parents though! My family's always had a thing about victory. Me and my brother have both been trained for the Games, and that's why I'm so desperate to get in this year. I'm not losing out to some dumb sixteen year old girl on the Quell of all years! I can't lose, I never lose. I am both literally and metaphorically, a winner! Leave that sort of thing to the Capitol. I smile, shuffling into line in the Seventeen section. The way we're set up, I can see Jason standing on the other side, and wave to him. A few girls look at me funnily and I growl at them, wrinkling my nose disdainfully. OK, so he's my ex-boyfriend, I know your supposed to hate a guy after he breaks up with you but, really, he makes a better friend than he makes a crush. It's like that for me most of the time I think, with a friend you can always stay on top, with boyfriends you've got all this 'sharing' and 'caring' crud. At least now he gives in whenever we argue, whether or not he's right! I contemplate walking out to him, but it seems like kind of a waste of time, now that I'm here and all. Besides, getting arrested by Peacekeepers is really not on my to do list right now.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." A booming, rather melodramatic voice cries from the stage, "Quieten down!" The town falls silent as Freeking Awesome steps on stage. Now there's a guy I'd like to be the kid of! It's just a shame that the only thing about me that isn't stunningly amazing is my family. I've got some pushy father, a naggy mother and a stupid asshole of an older brother. No, if I'd got to chose a family at birth I would have been in an Awesome or an Odair or a Frezal, one of the Victor's kids. Awesome has it made, being both a Victor and a Mayor, who the hell wouldn't want that! Shame he's only got a son's really and the oldest one of them is five. So I'd have to wait seven years to even be eligible for the Game, and I'd probably miss out on all the fun training I had with Carter. And then there's all the weird facial hair and squicky stuff. And the stupid names... Probably safer to just be the Tahti girl actually.

It's the same train of thought I go on every year, often out loud if my dad or brother are nearby. Not only does it seriously annoy them, and get my mother to buy me whatever I want for the next week to stop me from doing it again, but it takes up about as much time as reading the Treaty of Treason takes our fast talking mayor.

Awesome finishes his speech in record time and gives a quick bow, a custom in District One, before waving up our Escort Sol Kapatcha. The man looks kind of like a bird if it got lost in a paint factory, with his poofy orange dreadlocks, grey skin and all together too full lips. That and the piercings, and the fact he looks _way_ over sixty means that he's not exactly the prettiest guy around. Well, at least he's not one of those classic airhead escorts.

"Without further ado," Sol groans with a voice that sounds all together too much like that of a dying crow, "Let's see who our lucky female tribute is." He bends down to pretend to draw from the reaping ball, not even bothering to check that it's actually the girl's reaping ball.

"I volunteer!" I shout, just a second before about twenty other girl's. I smile as the Peacekeeper's step to one side, letting me up to the Arena as the losers claw at their shirts and beg them to move out the way so that they can get to the stage before me. It doesn't work. Being tall means I have longer legs then them, and I can get up their quicker. I take a second to sneer down at some of the younger girls, before yelling my name to the audience, who erupt into riotous applause! Everyone seems to react to this differently. I can see my brother smiling with grim satisfaction as he salutes me and my mother crying hysterically (ugh, she promised she wouldn't do that!). Several of the eighteen year olds shout abuse at me as I wave (suckers missed their chance). Carter just stands at the back, quietly shaking his head as he rests on his long sword. Mayor Awesome probably has my favorite reaction though. He gives me a thumbs up and one of his trademark grins. For some reason that's the most important to me. It's not because he's attractive or anything, he sure as hell isn't, it's just that he managed to do so much with his winnings and I'm going to top him. When I win, I'm going to be mayor and important in the Capitol! Sol waits for them to quieten down, regarding me with cold, appraising eyes before stepping over to draw another card.

"Pride Savage!" Sol calls. I look down as a massive boy in a classic fedora and suit, with a battered great coat and commando boots makes his way up to the stage. If this is Pride he should have no trouble! I won't say he's handsome though, because he isn't, what with that whopping great scar running down his left cheek. A few Careers step in his way, but they are quickly dragged back by truncheon armed men in their twenties, who have obviously slipped the Peacekeepers a couple of hundreds. He stomps on stage and introduces himself as Altair Blade. A Blade kid eh? As in Damien Blade? And here I was expecting an actual challenge. This kid's not even properly trained. He's a glorified thug who racks up street cred beating on old women and kids. His fingers dig into my hand when I shake it, but I ignore the pain. He's just trying to act big.

"Will our lovely Miss Tahti mind drawing the card for the lucky contest winner?" Sol drawls, obviously disinterested. I'd forgotten about the contest! Some snotty little Capitol kids get to come down to the Games and poke their noses in right before I kill everyone and then they can go home and brag. Personally I don't give a damn. It's not like they're gonna get in my way once we're in the Arena. I step up to the podium and draw a name from the sparkling golden ball, trying to ignore the impression that one of the Victors is staring at my butt. Well, at least I have one sponsor.

"Verity Marx." I read, making sure that I sound as bored as I feel. I let the paper flutter to the ground, stamping on it a couple of times, and am quickly led away for the goodbyes. It's kind of pointless really. I know I'll be coming back alive. Everyone does!

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><p><em>Verity Marx, age 17, Capitol club 'New Rome'<em>

Most friends would not consider it their job to hold back your hair while you vomit into a sink. Then again, I have very good friends. Besides, since the six of us spend most of our time at parties trying to dance with as many guys as possible, see who can drink the most of those fruity umbrella drink things and generally outdo each other, this is probably the closest thing we really get to bonding time. We've never had to do this as early as nine in the morning though! Or is it late, what do you call it when a party lasts all through the night and your still there at nine in the morning, early or late.

"Ah geez Ver'," my best friend, Harmony, grumbles, fiddling with a strand of my golden hair as I pull my head out of the sink and wipe my face on one of the dispensable towels, "What the hell have you been drinking?"

"Legionaries." my other friend, Clari mutters and I give a pathetic little smile as the other girls giggles. Yes, so Legionaries is a weird name for a drink, but it does sum them up nicely. You drink one and feel fine, it's kind of nice even, very strong and fruity. So you drink a few more, they all build up and, before you know it, you're partaking in the ritual Capitol past time of throwing up. Saves 'New Rome' a fortune on those little vomity drinks I can tell you.

My friends continue to giggle as we step out of the bathroom and make our way over to the bar, and I roll my eyes at them. Pretty much, they're idiots.

"Ah! There you are Jewel!" I spin on my feet, recognising my father's nickname for me and, sure enough, spot father as he makes his way over to me. He grins at me and my friends flinch slightly, especially Ashleigh, my other, other friend, who is particularly drunk at the moment, not that that's surprising. As my dad draws near, resting long black talons on my shoulder as I draw near, and kneeling down next to me, I can kind of see why my friends are so scared of him. With his blood red tux, purple lipstick and eyeliner and very pale skin set off by jet black hair, my father, Vladmir, looks a bit like Dracula. Either that or my friends are just scared that he'll find out they've been stealing drinks, since he's the owner of New Rome and all. I guess father is probably where I get most party girl attitude from. Mom's a bit too strict and bossy for my liking and father, while he still obviously prefers my oh so famous sister, is at least fun to be with at a party. There aren't many girls who can say that about their dad, but then again, my father isn't like most men. He's not the most masculine of role models for one and he's never really expected me to make anything out of my life except maybe become a model or singer so he just kind of ignores me and we both get on with our lives. Father smiles, handing me another odd looking, sticky red drink that looks kind of like it's bubbling with a whisper of 'new idea, on the house' before skulking away into a crowd of party goers. My friends grin widely and ask for sips as I curiously sniff the concoction, sneezing as it gets in my nose. Father is one of those guys who shows his affection, if he does at all, with money, which I'm totally cool with. It's not like I'm spoilt or anything, heck I had to wait till puberty before my parents would get me any alterations at all! I suppose I can see why, reflective, jewel encrusted, golden skin doesn't come cheap after all, so it was probably a good idea to wait until I turned sixteen before they gave me that, and the 'natural looking' eye flecks of blue, silver and purple were a bit painful. I didn't realise they did it with chemicals!

Yeah I know the rainbow eyes and gold skin isn't the most popular look, and it makes standing in bright light really painful for anyone nearby, not to mention that time one of the rubies in my temples got caught to one of Tyke Kuabo, the head of the soccer team, many piercings while we were making out and we were stuck together for two day! But, surprise surprise, I didn't do all these alterations just to be popular! This is my way of supporting my favorite district, District One! It's not because they're Careers or anything, that's not what I care about, but I love all the cute and crazy costumes, and no one makes them cuter or crazier than District One! I smile as I remember the announcement from Claudius about the Games, and how twelve lucky Capitol citizens will get to go down to the pre-game preparations and meet the tributes! Lots of people think it's a hoax, that there isn't actually a Quell this year and it's all a plan by the District's to squeeze a little bit more money out of us. Maybe it is but, to me, it doesn't matter. Sure it's probably a hoax and, even if it's not, it's a great excuse to have a big party, and that's what most of Panem is doing at the moment! Partying like there's no tomorrow! For all the space there is inside New Rome, there are so many people in here that I think we could run out of oxygen at any moment! I take a sip of the drink father gave me and immediately spit it back out, much to the glee of my friends. It tastes like a mix between strawberries, blackberries, melon and blood, with a slight hint of that throwing up drink. It's labeled 'The Bloodbath'. I know some of my friends might like this, but I get sick even looking at blood. Yeah, real classy dad!

Thinking about it though, that contest isn't that bad an idea if it's genuine. I'd really love to meet the victors. It doesn't matter which, just any of them would be great. I even entered the six slips I was allowed, but my parents didn't let me buy any 'Capitol tesserae'. Those things are great, you pay a small amount of money and suddenly you've got even more chance of being chosen. Since all of my friends have bought at least twenty, I don't feel very lucky at the moment. I sigh, well, whoever wins I hope they have fun, I almost certainly won't even remember to watch the Games again this year, I'll be too busy with all the partying I do.

It's at that moment that my ear phone goes off. I roll my eyes, closing one of them so that I can see the number of the caller on the screen implanted inside my eyelid. I don't recognise the caller. Yeah, I've got an in built Sunnysonic Ultra Unit (made in District Three). I've already said my father thinks love and money are one and the same. Having the screen placed under my eyelid took some getting used to though.

Anyway, I should really stop getting side tracked. I turn my attention back to my still vibrating phone, which is actually kind of starting to hurt my jaw.

"Answer." I command and the phone clicks on.

"Hey there Verity Marx!" A vaguely familiar voice chirps from the other end of the phone.

"Hi?" I reply, trying to remember where I've heard that voice before. Behind me comes the sound of another track, one of those old ones with the heavy bass that father really loves. Ugh, I can hardly hear my call over it!

"Sounds like a pretty good party," The man bellows, trying to make himself heard over the sound of the music, and a screaming crowd in the background of his call. Who is he? I've almost got the face, but for some reason I can't quite put my finger on the name of the caller.

"Yeah!" I shout back, parties is something I can really get into. It must be an ex-boyfriend or something "It's great! We're at 'New Rome' and it's packed, want to come down?"

"I'd love to Ms Marx," OK, it's not an ex, some of them have been dumped for calling me Miss Marx, all of them would know it's a taboo! "But, I'm the one who's coming to pick you up! This is Caesar Flickerman..."

Oh. My. God.

"And that party of yours is about to get a heck of a lot hotter."

No way! This can't be real, it can't be right! It's too good to be true!

"Because you've just won our star prize! Congratulations Miss Verity Marx, you'll be joining the tributes of District One at the tributes tower! A car will pick you up in five." The phone goes dead, but for some reason the party has suddenly got a lot louder. It takes me a moment to realise that it is me making the noise. Me bouncing up and down like some kind of lunatic disco ball, what with the light glowing off my metallic skin. Me screaming my head off as loudly as I can, drawing the attention of everyone in New Rome.

"I won! I won! I won! I won!" And it pretty much carries on like that until the car shows up, at which point I leap out of the club and into the back, not bothering to look back, not even bothering to wish my friends and family goodbye.

Why should I? The District kids are the one's who won't be coming back. As much as that idea makes me sick, I can live with it, I've lived with it for seventeen years after all! I have nothing to fear! Verity Marx, personal guest of District One!

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><p><strong>So, what do you think? Let me know your thoughts and maybe, when I take over, you will be spared! Maybe.<strong>

I still need a District 11 and District 8 man to complete my list!


	3. D2: Trains and Training

A/N: We now only have one tribute free, the District 3 male! Get him while you can! Thanks to everyone who answered my question in my last chapter, it was very interesting the varied ideas and reviews I got on whether 1st or 3rd person was better. I have to say that I think, for the time being, 1st person will be more useful for the reapings, as it allows you to get inside the heads of the tributes and get to know them personally, and 3rd person is better for the Games themselves, as it gives a more detached view allowing for more gore!

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><p>Tributes this chapter are provided by sugercoated, kuhse and of course Narssisa Weasley. All of whom were fans of my original Hunger Games! I have, with most of the tributes I have been given, added information to them to flesh them out as characters, and I attempt to show them as real, layered, characters in these reapings, and not just cut outs with a quirk, which I believe is what I did with several characters in my previous fanfictions!<p>

So without further time wasting, let's get on with this chapter!

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><p><strong>The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**District Two**

_Leighton Kelly age 16_

Crying is not something a good Career is supposed to do. Especially not on a log in the woods. Nonetheless that is what I am doing. Sitting on a log, sniffling. I don't know why but, for some reason, being on a log makes it so much worse. It makes me feel so stupid, so insignificant compared to everyone else in this forest. Just a stupid part of the stupid scenery.

We Careers are supposed to be tough, you see. Who would possibly sponsor a trained fighter if they caught them bawling their eyes out? No one! We aren't supposed to cry and, if I'm honest, I can't remember the last time I cried like this. Heck, I can't remember the last time I cried, simple as that! I'm supposed to be tough, not to cry! Crying is the job of the tributes who don't have any choice about going into the Arena, who have been condemned to die. Someone always volunteers down here, so why get worked up? Well, because I'm the one volunteering. I'm a Career, my father always tells me, not just another sniffling tribute. Except my father doesn't even know about that! Alfie Kelly never volunteered, he was reaped and was too arrogant to let anyone volunteer for him! When he won, a short, fierce sixteen year old with several horrifying mental issues, it was because he was crazy, not because he was trained. I'm nothing like that! I really am just another sniffling tribute! I don't have a choice about going, I'm still being condemned to death! The only difference is I'm choosing to die!

I look up through aching, reddened eyes as I hear heavy footsteps come towards me. Noah. Oh God, why did have to be Noah? Anyone else and I could pass it off as nerves, or excitement. My trainers or my parents or my brothers, Stray and Wessie, all think I love training more than anything else in the world! They would have believed some cock and bull story about being sick with nerves. Not Noah though. I was so hoping it wouldn't be Noah. Noah knows how I feel about the Games, that I'm sickened and terrified by the idea of ever volunteering, and I know what's coming next.

"You don't have to do this you know," Noah begins, sitting down next to me, and I glare up at him with all the determination I can manage, with my eyes clouded over like this.

"Yes I do." I say curtly, and he shakes his head, sadly, once again telling me that I'll be an idiot to go in at sixteen. I refer him to my previous statement.

The short boy groans, wrapping an arm around my shoulder. He's not a Career and, if any other boy his age did that they'd probably wind up in hospital, but I'm kind of OK with Noah. I don't know why but Noah's just, different. Well, different from anyone else I've met that is! He's a couple of years younger than me and, being one of the band of pickpockets who got sent here three years ago to begin training to be a Peacekeeper, he got quite a lot of flak when he first came to this District. To be honest I kind of hated him when he first came here too, what with his dyed blue hair and red skin. Over the years though the apparently 'cheap' dye washed off, and now that he looks pretty normal, I think he's actually much more normal than most of my sparring partners.

"Are you insane!" Noah asks, stretching the vowels in a rather peculiar fashion, a thing he seems to do a lot, "I'm not telling you that it's a bad idea to do this, I'm telling you that everyone else who volunteers will be eighteen! It's suicidal!" I stare at him, and the kid shuts up for long enough for me to give my two cents.

"It's not my decision," I mutter, hoping that he mistakes the waver in my voice for an accent. "Dad was sixteen when he won, so I'm going to win it now I'm sixteen, and that's all there is to it!"

"So that's what this is all about, eh? You want to make your father proud?" I glare at him through misty eyes. Of course I want to make my father proud! He's the one who put me in Career training, the one who wants to make me the next great Victor of District Two. Why would I even be doing this if it weren't for him?

"No." I say, shaking my head slowly, rubbing my eyes as I try to hide my tears.

"So why are you crying?" Capitol citizens aren't really that tough and they're a bit over emotional some times. I remember, just a couple of months ago, I had been the one asking him that exact same question.

"I'm not," I assure him, trying to think of some lie to cover it, "It's conjunctivitis." Lame I know, and Noah obviously knows the same, because the next thing I know he's laughing his head off and, for some bizarre reason, I'm laughing too! Laughter makes me feel rather sick at the moment actually, it doesn't sit particularly well with the grinding fear that fills my stomach.

"Careers don't have to be indestructible you know? They're only human." Noah sighs, standing to his feet and offering me a hand. "Now come on. The Mayor's about to start speaking, we don't want you to miss your own death sentence do we?" It's biting little sentences like those that really make me like Noah. Hiding an insult or an idea under a layer of niceness. It's something I really wish I could do, because then I could tell dad, face to face, what I really thought of his stupid training and his stupid Hunger Games.

We finally stomp into the square just as the Mayor, a thin, elderly man with a far too twirly mustache, comes to the end of reading the treaty and saying his speech and introduces the Escort. In any other District we would have been rounded up and herded here by now but, fortunately, the Career districts are a bit more lax on who shows up. Since most of the crowd are Peacekeepers anyway, there's never really anyone on guard, and no one ever runs away or needs to be herded up, so we take it very casually, just drifting in when we feel like it really. In District's one, two and four it is assumed that all the tributes, every year will volunteer, and thus anyone who doesn't show up doesn't miss much except for a chance at glory. Maybe their name will be picked, maybe it won't it doesn't matter, because someone will volunteer for them if they don't want to go. Someone always does! That was part of the reason why Peacekeepers came here to train. Not only is the District perfectly placed for all types of athletics, this is possibly the only District where a Capitol kid has no chance of being chosen for the Games.

I look up as the escort, a buxom woman in her late early-thirties with florescent purple hair styled like little springs, and a series of puce piercings around her lips, ears and eyes, steps on stage. For some reason, in the past ten years there has been a great change in the type of people who became escorts. For one thing you know had a forty percent chance of getting a male escort, as oppose to the old days where escorts were almost always ditzy females. Second, the escorts have become much more important. Gone are the days when escort is the job of a struggling sap looking for a fast ride into the world of acting or doing it as as a prerequisite to becoming a Hunger Games presenter. Nowadays most of the Escorts are famous Capitol figures or Games Makers looking for a payed retirement. It's nice to know that we've still got one of the loser escorts!

"Hello District Two!" The woman chirps, and the crowd roars its approval, "I'm your escort, Mel'sa!" Mel'sa? Bad name. 'A Mel'sa' is slang for someone useless in my Training center. Looking up at th woman I can't help wondering if this is where that meaning came from. "Let's see who our lucky tribute is this year!" She giggles as she feigns drawing a slip. Well, after all, she knows what will happen next!

"I volunteer!" I bellow, slightly half heartedly. Mel'sa makes a big thing out of this, saying things like 'how exciting' and 'what a surprise' but even I can see this is what she was expecting. Who wasn't? I stand there, forcing a grin down at the crowd as my partner, a hulking blond called Luke, marches out and stands next to me. The boy's massive, and I can't help but feel a little scared sizing up next to him. I turn to look at my father, who is standing on the stage behind me, as I shake hands with Luke. Dad flashes me a smile and, somehow, despite the fact both me and my partner are trying to crush each other's fingers to give us an early head start, I smile genuinely for the first time today. My dad's proud of me. Mission complete.

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><p><em>Luke Cerpask age 18<em>

There's only one way out of District Two, that is if you don't want to go over four fences each incorporating guard posts every two hundred meters, frequent patrols of dogs, Peacekeepers and mutts and then a few hundred miles of plain, sea and mountain, and that's the train station. Trains only ever come down here once a month, to collect rock and statues for the Capitol, or sometimes a smaller District, and then chug off through the gates and out into the world beyond. Sometimes we get a converted military train, carrying a platoon of Peacekeepers, or recreational trains with holiday makers or visiting dignitaries, but those are less common. Today this district is going to be getting a very different train though, a converted recreational train designed to be the top of the range with every little comfort that even most people in the Capitol won't ever be able to afford! Better yet is where this train leads, a similarly outfitted tower which is built specifically to house twenty four lucky contestants, one of whom will, in a matter of days, ascend the ladder of power and immortalized for evermore. Taken from a life of boredom and drudgery, to that of international fame and fortune, never again having to work or worry, able to support his entire family for the rest of his life! Today that train's gonna arrive at the station, and it's going to leave with me on board, taking me to a better tomorrow, just like in the movies!

Some people would say that I'm being 'exceptionally selfish' and that I don't know 'how lucky I am', I can imagine my mother, Miss Peacekeeper off in District Four, giving me a lecture on how we're pretty rich and I shouldn't be complaining, I know it's selfish to want fame and fortune just for your self but, guess what, I'm not doing this for me.

I'm doing this for Sarah Cornell. My fiancé.

Not that mom knows she's my fiancé, as much as I love my mom, I wouldn't tell her that me and Sarah are getting married if she was the last mother on Earth. It's not that I don't like Mom or an thing it's just that, well, she wouldn't approve. Mom's a big fan of doing things slowly, she always has been, so if I told mom that I, her perfect son, was marrying his pregnant, yes pregnant, nineteen year old girlfriend as soon as he gets back from the Hunger Games, she'd blow a gasket! Despite the fact my mom only comes home about once a year for a week, she has a pretty formidable temper, and it's one I don't want to get on the wrong side of. I remember a time when I left the cat out for a night when I was ten. Mom locked me out of the house for an evening to see how I'd like it, and they all sat inside with my four year old brothers, watching television while I sat under the porch, sheltering from the pouring rain. It had seemed harsh at the time, but it certainly taught me my lesson. I hate to think how she'd punish me for an accidental child! I smile as I slip my arm out from around Sarah, rolling out of the bed and onto the floor, careful not to wake my brothers in the other room. Ever since Sarah had moved in, the two have had to move out of the larger room and into the one that I used to have. I think they feel slightly jealous of Sarah, since now she's got their bedroom and they've got the cramped one person one with all of my training equipment in it, but they haven't said anything yet. They're nice enough kids, but, sometimes I can't help feeling that they're hiding something from me. Maybe it's just because they both spend so much time together, muttering to each other at that unintelligible speed I've never got to keep up with. I guess, because they've always had someone to talk to, they've never had to keep thoughts in their heads, and those thoughts come tumbling out so fast that, sometimes, I really find it hard to understand what on earth they're saying. Somehow Sarah gets them though. I don't know why but I feel like we need Sarah. Kind of like our family doesn't have enough of a 'woman's touch' or whatever in it what with it being just me, my dad and the twins most of the time.

The woman in question gives a little snuffling noise and rolls up in the battered covers of our bed, still very much asleep. I can't hold back a laugh as I make my way out to begin fixing breakfast. What a girl! I grin to myself as the enticing aroma of sizzling bacon, a special dish which dad brings back from the store once a year, as a mini celebration for whoever is going off to fight, fills the room. It's not long before Jamie, the quieter of my two brothers, makes his way to the door of his room and stumbles out, dressed in too long pajamas with a picture of one of the past victors, I forget which one, on it and a rope tied round his waist to keep them up. He groans, reaching down and placing a pair of glasses over his sleep encrusted eyes, staring at me with a mixture of annoyance and interest.

"Bacon. Reapings?" Jamie asks, in as few words as possible, as he usually does.

"Yep." I grin at him, as he walks over and sits down at the table, "Did you get a good night's sleep?"

"Yes. No thanks to you, might I add." If I were more self conscious, I might blush when he said that, but fortunately I know it's not my fault. "You've already got one kid, I'd quit while you're ahead Luke." OK, so I admit the whole kid thing was one massive accident, but I don't mean a bad accident. It couldn't have turned out better if I tried! Sometimes things don't turn out the way you plan, you just have to be prepared for them. I, for example, have no particular want to go to the Games. The balance of Career training, Peacekeeper trials my mom has put me on, and mining has made me pretty strong, but I'm not really as good as most of the other Careers at the complicated stuff, like firing a bow and arrow. I wasn't planning a kid, either, and now I've got one on the way, what's my first aim, go to the Games. It may sound stupid, but it's really not. I plan to use what I've learned to win, and get back in a week to marry my wife and live out the rest of my life in peace and riches. It's not like I'm abandoning Sarah or anything, she's known this plan since before she moved in. Heck, I think she might have been the one who suggested it. I'm not being horrible, it really is the best environment to bring up a kid, in my opinion at least. I won't need to work, so I'll be able to devote all my time to caring for my new son or daughter! It won't matter that much if I don't get chosen, no biggie, I'll just forget about it and go to work in the Nut like dad, it makes some pretty good money and isn't nearly as stressful as people seem to think.

While I'm thinking my other brother, John, rushes out of the bedroom, sporting a vest and boxers. I can always tell the two apart at this time of day because, well, I'm their brother! On top of that John never where's hand me downs, whereas Jamie does, and Jamie wheres glasses and keeps his hair flat. John winks at me and spins into his chair, waiting for me to serve bacon. As I serve up the sizzling meat and pass it to the twins, I secretly hope this isn't what raising kids of my own will be like, because at the moment Sarah is being of no help.

It's a full hour before Sarah actually wakes up, and another two before she is dressed and feels well enough to get out the door. A few people stare at us as we walk down the street to the reapings. I just smile back and wave like normal. They do this sort of thing a lot, I'm just glad they've stopped shouting insults in the streets since I beat that last kid up. Bloody jerk deserved it. I feel kind of like a proper family as we make our way to the reapings, going our separate ways with all the hugs and other bravado that, despite the lack of danger in District Two, always fills the air every reapings. Sarah kisses me before I head off to the eighteens, and John salutes theatrically, before dragging his twin off to the twelves section, a wide grin plastered all over his face. Oh god. Another one of their pranks on the twelve year old girls! I must remember to laugh later if someone else volunteers. I turn to my father, who smiles widely, his bald head shining in the bright sunlight.

"Make me proud son." The man barks, reminding me more of the grandfather he'll soon become with every passing day, "Bring home a win for the good old house of Cerpask." I nod, marching over to my section just as the horribly dressed Mel'sa calls the name of the female tribute. Unsurprisingly someone volunteers, and a girl who I vaguely recognize from TV or something runs up to the stage.

"I'm Leighton Kelly!" She bellows, "And I'm going to win the 95th Hunger Games just like my father!" Well, she's either not the brightest or she's caught up in the excitement, because she doesn't seem to have noticed that she just said her father has won the 95th Hunger Games. This must be Alfie Kelly's daughter. She looks tough. Tall and freckly, she looks pretty fit so she should be a fair challenge. Mel'sa struts around and blathers about 'excitement' a bit more, before reaching into the second globe and pulling out a name.

"Jo..."

"I, LUKE CERPASK VOLUNTEER!" I bellow, storming out onto the stage, the escort looks at me for a second, before grabbing my and Leighton's hand and pressing them into a shake.

"Do you know you just volunteered for your brother?" Mel'sa whispers to me, "You might want to use that in the Games, love." I stare at her, my eyes asking for answers as my grip tightens on Leighton's hand.

"Why are you helping me?"

"You're cute, why else?" I smile, mentally adding an extra string to my sponsor bow. It's only now that I notice Leighton is shaking. I wonder if it's from excitement or fear?

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><p><em>Look Kain age 12 ½, Capitol flat<em>

I know most kids like the Hunger Games, they think they're great fun and every year the class gets a couple of weeks off, goes home and breaks open their piggy banks to sponsor their favorite tribute. Sometimes they band together in the high street, crowding around the local news agents, who collect sponsorships, so that all their money can be used to buy one item, generally a small meal that barely helps the poor sap they sponsored. Some of them will even do stuff like sell lemonade or wash cars in order to raise enough money to sponsor a tribute. It's a great boon for the community, and a great boost to neighborhood spirit, as your neighbors always seem to be supporting the same people as you. Basically every year, while teens are slaughtering each other in some godforsaken arena, every man, woman and child in the Capitol gets extra happy and super friendly! And most people think that's a good thing. But I don't.

My particular area always supports District Ten, apparently because the majority of stores around here a restaurants, butchers and carveries. I've never supported them though, I've never banded together with friends, I've never sold lemonade at the street corner (Although I have bought some). I personally can't stand a single part of the Hunger Games. I really don't know why I hate the Hunger Games, I just sort of do. My mom thinks it's because I have a weak constitution. My friend, Avinni, thinks it's just me going on one of my stupid animal rights campaigns and thinking that all the tributes going there are cows! Lio says it's just because my half-birthday is on the day of the reapings, and I don't like the idea of Capitol kids getting more attention than I do! Personally, I don't agree with any of that. I just think it's plain wrong.

And yes it is on my half birthday! I groan, leaning over the counter in the kitchen in mom's compartment, pouring myself a drink and staring into the clear crystal water at my reflection. I glare down, watching as the black and white stripes on my skin twist into a frown. I try to imagine that I'm in the Hunger Games, sucking up all the glory and, if only for a moment, the complete center of attention of everyone in Panem. All I see is a funny looking striped boy with a purple Mohawk looking back at me. I sigh, I can't even watch the Hunger Games without being sick, if I ever got into them I'm pretty sure I'd be dead within seconds. A couple of years ago I managed to persuade mom to get me alterations so that I looked like some sort of endangered animal. I wanted to prove that we Capitalites are no better than animals, killing other innocent humans with no thought of how it will affect us in the future. An idea which I sorely hate, being unable to even stomach normal animal meat (Is it any surprise I hate District Ten). No one ever listens to me though, not even Lio or Kesh, and they're supposed to be my best friends! They just see me as the unintelligent class clown that I spent Elementary school trying to build up. Now I've got it and I can't get rid of it. The Capitol thinks I'm a freak. The District's think I'm a freak and a monster. I think if I ever was in the Hunger Games everyone would probably kill me in five seconds. It's kind of sickening really.

There's a click right behind my head, and I turn to see my mom and little brother, Boor, step in the room, accompanied by 'T'. I groan, not T, not right now. Ever since my dad disappeared way back before Boor was born, mom has been hopping from one boyfriend to another, and T is just the latest in a long line. Or at least, that's what I had wanted to think. In truth T has been dating mom for the past two years, far longer than any other of her boyfriends, and his amazing wealth is all that's keeping us in this apartment. It's his house after all so we can't really bar him. So it's best for me to hope that she continues to date T. Don't get me wrong, I don't hate T, he's nice enough and he's good with Boor, but I'm looking for a father, not another friend, and T certainly isn't a father! He's a good guy and we get along pretty well we've each other. He even tries to be as kind to me as possible and do things with me, like those father's on the adverts, but, the thing is, we're just so different. I like soccer, he likes baseball. I'm a vegan, he eats bacon at breakfast every day. He values studying, I prefer... other things. And most importantly, he's a bloody Games Maker! At this time of year my hatred of the Games always comes out and, while we never argue, I always find myself trying to annoy him just so I can prove my point that he's a bloodthirsty monster. And then whenever he leaves I always feel terrible and end up moping around the house for the rest of the day, feeling like I've just ruined mom's chance at happiness. I have a feeling that today will be no different. T grins at me, showing of his luminescent teeth, which actually start to glow on one side due to the lack of light in the corner of the room. Yep, I'm going to hate him today.

"Hey Zebby!" He calls cheerfully. Yes, I know I look like a zebra, get over it! "Happy Half Birthday! Big day my man!"

"Hey." I mutter, and he smiles, passing me a nicely wrapped package. I eye it curiously, pink paper, yellow string, not that big. Maybe it's a credit card or something, it wouldn't be the first time that one of mom's boyfriends bought me something like at. They generally aren't accepted by stores because I'm too young.

"Well, aren't you going to open it, my man?" T asks. He always calls me 'my man' I have no idea why though, it just makes him sound weird and old fashioned. I look at him, trying to give him some impression of what I think, but ever he doesn't understand me or he ignores me. He's still smiling that unwavering TV smile, like we're characters in some everlasting sitcom. Actually, I kind of like that analogy, it fits. Being in a sitcom would explain why my life is such a mess and I'm constantly being defeated at every corner by some unseen force.

I pull the paper off of whatever it is and inspect the present, a pile of about one hundred slips of paper, all cut to about a quarter of an A5 sheet and each one meticulously signed with 'Look Kain'. I stare at the things for a second, unsure what to make of them.

"What are they?" I ask, and T's grin grows even bigger, as if he knew it was what I was going to say and has spent several hours carefully planning his reply. Which is almost certainly exactly what he's done.

"You're telling me you don't know?" T grins, looking at mom who simpers back.

"No." I say, wishing that for once he would actually give me a straight answer.

"Really?" my mom asks. Oh great, a group act. They've planned this together. Normally I'd play along, I might even laugh at mom and T's hopeless attempts to synchronize their act and spend the next few days making fun of it. It's creepy how I'm not doing that at the moment, I guess it's just a bad time, because I'm normally a really fun guy to be with, a joker in every aspect, but every year at around Hunger Games time I take this strange metamorphism. It's like I'm a mood butterfly. Around this time I stop being my normal cheery self and become a lot moodier and less friendly. It makes me wonder if my body is trying to make me more willing to kill, as though I could be in the Games at any second. That kind of scares me.

"What is it?" I ask and T grins widely. Obviously I'm saying exactly what he thought I would.

"This," T begins, ruffling the tickets like bank notes, "Is a visual representation! I thought it would be better to show you what I've done for you instead of just tell you."

"A visual representation of what!" I ask, excitement bubbling up inside of me, despite my attempts to stay hostile, as I begin to bounce slightly on the balls of my feet. T smiles widely, plucking the house remote from the table and turning on the television. A tall girl and a massive boy, who I instantly recognize as the tributes of a Career district are standing over a golden reaping ball, their hands fishing around inside it.

He didn't.

"I know some people," T begins, "Ah who am I kidding? I am a person, who was able to get you one hundred slips in that ball! If you're not chosen it'll be a crime!"

Please don't let me be chosen. Dear God, I promise I'll stop being so mean about my mom's boyfriend.

"Just think, you'll be meeting District Two, my man, the best District!"

I'll never prank Boor again. I'll be the best son ever. I'll stop my animal rights protests. I'll forget about the half birthdays and only celebrate the whole ones. Just please, please don't let me get chosen to go and see the Hunger Games!

"Look Kain." The boy on the screen says impassively, stepping back off the stage and grinning at the audience.

Yep. It's official. My life is a sitcom.

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><p>AN: Question of the Day: What do you think makes a perfect Career?


	4. D3: Stolen Chances

A/N: Still looking for a District Eight boy! I'm going to call Open Season on him, meaning that anyone can make him, regardless of how many tributes you've already made, but he will be bloodbathed. Thanks to all who answered QotD 1, I feel the best answer goes to Alcatraz Incarnation. A sweet, young Career with all the skills of an older one would be great as they would be able to pull the wool over other tributes eyes! Good job! Also, can anyone spot the very subtle shout out to my previous SYOT?

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><p>The following tributes belong to the wonderful RazieDazie, the fantastic Narcissa-Weasley and the astoundingly awesome TheSkyCries. I found all of these very hard to write, especially TheSkyCries, since they wrote so much. As such, not all of the History will be revealed here, but instead will be shown later. This may also be a very long chapter (seriously it's 5'500 words!), since I've been planning this one since I got the characters.<p>

**The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games**

**District Three**

_Lexi Saint-Helen age 15_

"Tea?" I ask, staring down at the five men who sit in chairs around the fine oak table. Four shake their heads, one of them nods, and I curtsy, leaving the porch for the tea machine, which lies just inside the rather mansion like home.

I will admit that this isn't shaping up into one of the greatest celebrations we have ever had, but I am still rather glad of it. Looking out through the window as the kettle hisses behind me, I watch the five figures sit in silence, moody and completely neglecting to speak to one another. It was to be expected, I suppose, everyone is always like this around the time of the Hunger Games, but I had hoped... Oh, I don't know what I had hoped! I was just so excited when Uncle Sparks had told me that _he_ would be allowed to visit us this year. Well, at least he let me make him tea, just like old times.

They let him come for the reapings but, of course he was not allowed to come alone. They would never allow it. Even as he sits here, he's flanked by two angry looking Peacekeepers, who I have instantly begun to dislike. They weren't invited and they refused my offer of tea, both of which are rather rude. The third man is even more rude, another victor like Uncle, but much older. He sits there constantly fidgeting and occasionally looking over his glasses and rubbing his balding head. He never looks in any of our eyes, instead staring wistfully away and making it terribly clear that he would rather not be here, four hours before the reapings start.

I know that all this stuff about manners sounds really, really stupid, but it has always been rather important to me. Ever since Uncle Sparks bought me in back when I was eight, he's raised me to be a 'proper' lady. Uncle grew up in very different times and for some reason it has always been his goal to raise me like people did in the 'old days'. _He _used to say it would be a shame for such a pretty girl not to be a proper lady and that always used to make me laugh and then he'd laugh, and Uncle would laugh. I sigh, as the kettle hisses and I pour the boiling water onto the tea leaves, adding a pinch of sugar as he always used to like. I smile, taking the tray and staggering outside again. As I make my way past the door, I stumble slightly, gripping the frame and gasping slightly. My leg's hurting me again. It always does that when I lift things. The two men at the table who I actually care about look up, concern in their eyes. I force a smile and step curtly over the frame, desperately hoping that neither of them notice that I'm gritting my teeth. I walk over to _him_ the man who used to be so clever and handsome with his blond curls and thin, smiling face. He looks so different now, like his face has melted, with watery, bagged eyes and a face covered in untrimmed bristles. It's sad really, what the Peacekeepers have done to him. His breathing quickens as I draw near, and he starts to look from one Peacekeeper to the other as tears form in his eyes. I look down sympathetically as I place the tea on the table and he takes it in shaking hands.

"L-L-L..." He stutters, his throat dry as he tries to mouth my name through chaffed and broken lips, "I'm s-so, so, s-s-so-sor..." He gives a sad little gasp and buries himself in his sweet tea, and all of a sudden I simply want to bend down and wrap my arms around him.

Step away from Larx now, Alexandra." Uncle sighs, his eyes filled with desperate sorrow.

Larx. My Larx. They took him away from me. They tell me they're protecting me, but he never hurt me! He didn't! And every time I see him he looks so miserable, and he's being dragged around by those awful Peacekeepers, even though I don't even remember why!

Larx is bustled out as soon as he finishes his drink, staring at me with those heartbreaking eyes that fill my stomach with guilt. I try to go with him to the Reapings, but Uncle's hand catches me as I try to leave.

"Go and get yourself ready please, Alexandra." Uncle says, quite calmly. His eyes tell me not to argue though. Those savage eyes, with that cool fire hiding just behind the surface. I have only seen that face a few times, most notably in Uncle's Games, and on that horrible night. I shudder, as though the fire could leap from his eyes and consume me at any minute, and turn, hurrying up the stairs of the mansion in search of my best dress.

The next three and a half hours go past in record time and, after a short tea and a brief discussion about what will happen if I'm reaped.

"Worried?" He asks as we make our way out of the Victor's Village.

"No, Uncle." I smile sweetly. It's not a lie.

We do this every year, so it's unsurprising that I'm not at all scared when it comes time to go down to the Games. You would think I'd be scared, but I'm really not! I mean, I've been through this for three years already. That means I've seen thirty of my friends and neighbors go to die, and I don't remember one of them coming back, although I didn't watch too carefully, so I might be wrong. I should be scared, I really should, but I am not. I'm the niece of Simon 'Sparks' Saint-Helen, the loon of District Three! I have Saint-Helen blood, so, even though I'm young, I have nothing to worry about!

I spot my parents as I take my place in the fifteen's section, but I don't approach them. Why should I, they never cared for me, so there is no point in acknowledging them. They are neglecters. They have done far more to hurt me than the man who was locked away for it!

"Hellooo District Tw- err Three!" The punk haired escort, the amusingly named Hams, giggles as she corrects herself. Poor dear, probably wishing she had District Two and their Careers. I don't blame her, they always win. "I know some of you always feel a little miserable this time of year, but I hope we can all be best of friends this year and really bring home a win for District Three! OK?" This woman is clearly delusional. The mayor rolls his eyes, and turns to a balding, rather haggard looking man, who presses a button. A drum roll starts, and Hams gives a flustered bow, drawing the first name.

"Alexandra Saint-Helen" She reads, clipping the words with that chirpy Capitol accent of hers. I smile sadly at the other fifteen year olds as the group parts and I begin to make my way up onto the stage.

"NO!"

The audience look around, surprised by the voice that comes from near the back of the crowd. I stop, startled, and begin to turn, knowing before I do that I'll see his haggard form with his dirty blond hair and his glasses askew. Larx.

"YOU CAN'T!" Larx bawls, slamming his fist into the face of a Peacekeeper who steps forward to restrain him, and beginning to wade through the twelves section. The children flinch and back away from him, each obviously scared off by the stories they were told of him. Up on stage, Hams reads the name of my District partner, but nobody hears it, as her voice is drowned out by the mournful shouts of Larx. "YOU CAN'T TAKE LEXI! YOU CAN'T!" I stare at the man and, before I know it, silent tears are welling up in my eyes. They force their way out, roll down my cheeks and push into my gaping mouth as the man breaks the cover of the crowds and runs out into the path to the stage, kneeling and wrapping his arms around me. I sink into his tearful embrace, letting the sound of his sobbed apologies muffle into my hair.

"Don't go Lexi." He whispers through sobs, "Please, please. You're the only thing keeping me sane!" I want to tell him it's alright, that it's not his fault. I want to tell him it's my fault, that it's always been my fault, but no words come to me.

And then it all happens.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch Uncle shout something, a warning, and begin to run towards the edge of the stage. Next thing I hear is a deafening bang, followed by a quiet whirring noise, and then a final, unmistakable crunching, followed by a breathy gasp. Larx slumps forwards, opening his mouth and giving a hoarse breath. He tries to speak, but all that comes out is a sick gurgle and a trickle of reddened drool. Pain and horror fills my head as I feel something warm and wet and sticky spread out against my dress. The man's head lols and his eyes blur, he looks up at me again with that all too familiar heartbreaking smile, and, as a wheeze of air and blood escapes his mouth, he gives his final apology.

"I'm so sorry Lexi. I'm sorry for all of this..." He croaks, before his eyes glass over and his breathing becomes silent. But, it's not his fault! It's never, never, ever his fault! It's the Peacekeepers' fault! It's the Capitol's fault! It's my fault! My fault! It's all my fault! It's always been my fault! Mine! Mine! Mine!

A scream forces its way out of my mouth, drawing all eyes that weren't already on me to where I stand as Larx is pulled away from me. I stare down in horror, taking in the blood of my tutor smeared over my sapphire blue sundress and the gouge cut in my side by the Peacekeeper's bullet and then the pain hits for real. I double over as the world shudders and breaks like glass. Everything suddenly feels very cold and very dark as time grinds to a very sudden halt. My Uncle gives another cry, wrenching the gun from the hands of the offending Peacekeeper and wrapping his arms around me. Hams calls another name, but I still don't hear it.

The last thing to fade from my sight is Larx's body, and my Uncle holding the gun.

Then everything goes black and I am sucked away from consciousness.

* * *

><p><em>Legend Faktyr age 15<em>

There are three words to describe my life. Simple, Fun and Easy. I wake up, I work in the industry five days a week making headphones for whiny Capitol kids and maybe prank a few people every day. Nothing too spectacular really. It's not that bad, I'm actually quite glad that I'm not, like, the kid of a victor, since they're always chosen first. Normal people never get chosen, they always choose interesting kids so that people will sponsor them. So, as our family slowly wanders down to the Mayor's office, outside which the Reapings are held, I'm not exactly the most timid guy in the world. In fact I find it really difficult to hold back my trademark grin as we worm our way through the clumps of people going in the same direction. My father looks disdainfully down at it as the family is signed in.

"Ogdir Faktyr, wife Mhayn and sons Legend, fifteen, Cornu, Hugo and Millo, all below reaping age." My father mutters gruffly, and I can't help snickering, gaining myself a smack round the ear from my father. I grit my teeth, twisting away from his grip and slamming my fist into his stomach, before darting into the crowd, careful to avoid his grasping fingers. It's gonna be hell for me when I get back home later but it was totally worth it You'd think, what with the entire family looking like some sort of elves with curly red hair, freckles and pointy ears, life would be more fun! But, despite the mischievous glints in the eye of all our family despite the hilarious names my parents gave us, they have a serious sense of humour malfunction. Especially at this time of year, all my younger brothers and parents do is yammer on about how bad this whole situation is and how our so-called 'great nation' is destroying itself with its own barbarism. Really I can't see it, to me it's just a great chance for normal kids to watch the Capitol act all gooey and go weak at the knees about a bunch of kids who they themselves are sending to their deaths. It's just funny to me. I guess maybe I'm the only one who actually lives up to our families nickname of 'The Faktyr Pixies'. I smile coolly as I siddle up next to a tall pale kid with a kind of dark afro. Hazzerd Jate, Another misleading kid as, despite the weird afro and the odd name, he's actually a really calm kid. We District Three kids are misleading like that.

"Problems?" He asks dryly, instantly seeing through my mask of a smile. I hate it when he does that but, for some reason, my smile grows wider and more genuine.

"Not on your life." I whisper. A couple of guys turn round and shush us, shuffling their feet nervously like they always do. I shush them back before turning to Hazzerd, making sure my voice is as loud as humanly possible without attracting Peacekeeper attention.

"Ya ready?" I ask, a huge toothy grin plastered all over my face as he laughs, "Gonna be a great Games this year, eh? Might even sponsor one of those Career kids this year if I can afford it! Sounds like it's gonna be a good one!" OK, I know I sound like a jerk, yammering about how great these Games are going to be to, like, the twelve and thirteen year old kids who are going to be in them, but it's really not that much to worry about.

"Dude! Shut up!" Hazzerd whines, once again trying to be the voice of reason in the circus of weirdness that my mind lives in. Unfortunately what this particular circus needs is clowns.

"Why?" I smile, "District Three is one of the best Districts not to have Careers. Whoever goes down should be able to escape some stupid Arena without any problems!"

"No seriously, shut up! The Thing's about to start!" I snicker apologetically, turning my attention to the stage.

Behind the stage, a hollow faced bald man begins to turn a giant handle, like the sort you find on a hurdy gurdy and a giant machine that surrounds the square puffs and whistles into action. A tinny, grinding sound pushes its way out of the machine as the man cranks the machine and, as he lets go of the handle, the unmistakable tune of the Capitol anthem fills the square. In District Three, we don't have a band to play it like so many other's the sounds are all recreated by machines. The mayor strides up the steps to the stage, followed by the Victors, who have just arrived. The mayor regards the crowd with the gaze of a factory owner inspecting his workers as he twirls his incredibly elaborate mustache with his right hand. I can't help but laugh at the oddity of our mayor, with his small, watery eyes, large mustache and elephant like ears. Once again I am greeted only by shushes. No one round here has any sense of humour. When the anthem ends, the mayor begins his speech and the Treaty of Treason. It's all very long and pretty boring so I don't really pay attention, and instead play a game with Hazzerd entitled, who can yawn the loudest without getting throttled by Peacekeepers. Once the man has finally stopped speaking, we're introduced to our escort, Hams, the only person I'm remotely interested in in this whole affair. When you first look at Hams, with her purple Mohawk and otherwise bald head, red eyes and black tongue, complimented by the unbelievably tall heels and the purple clown ruff, you really don't expect the ditzy idiot who we have as a Escort, and it's always hilarious to see the looks of fear on the little kids see her for the first time, only to realise how harmless she is! I wonder if she's still as stupid as ever?

"Hellooo District Tw- err Three!" Yep. Sounds pretty thick to me. The escort giggles dizzily, apologising for her mistake and then continuing with her speech. "I know some of you always feel a little miserable this time of year," No kidding. "But I hope we can all be best of friends this year and really bring home a win for District Three! OK?" I snigger at her as a drumroll starts in the background, and Hams gives a theatrical bow, drawing the first name.

"Alexandra Saint-Helen!" She calls, and a confident looking girl strides out into the middle of the passage. As the crowd erupts with murmurs and the occasional shout, I take a passing second to wonder why the girl looks as confident as she does. Maybe she's a pseudo Career, one of this kids who trains just in case. If she is she doesn't look it, not with those big green eyes and the wispy brown hair.

"Saint-Helen?" Hazzerd whispers to me, raising an eyebrow and suddenly the memories come flooding back to me. No wonder Alexandra doesn't look worried, she's a relative of The Loon, Simon Saint-Helen victor of the Seventy Sixth Hunger Games! The crazy guy who adopted his own niece despite the fact both parents are still alive. The guy who set fire to the Victor's Village three years ago on Reaping day. The guy who, rumour has it, destroyed the Arena he fought in with lightning! Freaking lightning!

The girl certainly doesn't look like a winner though. In fact, she looks rather frail and somehow inhuman. Dressed in a simple blue dress and with her spindly arms and legs, Alex-whatever looks almost exactly like a doll.

It's only then that I realise that someone is screaming. A gaunt looking man in a battered suit barges his way through the crowd, screaming blue murder as he shoves the twelve year olds opposite me out of the way and wraps his arms around the girl. I'd guess he's a relative. He somehow manages to knock a Peacekeeper out of the way and wraps his arms around the girl, mumbling something to her even as the Peacekeepers encircle him. The mayor and Hams are obviously trying to restore order, and the drum roll machine has been turned on again, but this time no one is listening with bated breath. All attention is turned on the two figures, and no one hears the name that Hams calls out, instead staring at the man as his arms wrap around the little girl.

For a second it's rather sweet. Then the gunshot goes off and both figures crumple on the ground. The girl is immediately surrounded by people, but no one pays attention to the man. That bothers me somewhat. Why not try to help the guy as well? Sure he's not a tribute but what the hell?

"Errr? Excuse me? I'm still here you know?" The unintentionally hilarious escort yammers. I turn my attention back to her, ready to find out which unlucky soul will be trying to get more sponsors that Alex-whatever.

"Leg-L-Lage-Legend F-Fak-F-katyr-Fu..." She doesn't need to end the name. There's only one set of parents dumb enough to call I child Legend and I know exactly who they are.

Mine.

I step out into the alley, waiting for the uncertain applause, the apologetic gazes, the lamentations, but none come. I roll my eyes, so they're all still simpering over Lexi, huh? Well I'll show them!

Lashing out with my fist I catch a nearby thirteen year old in the jaw, sending him tumbling to the floor. My other fist smacks into the groin of a Peacekeeper who steps forwards to stop me. I dodge past him, ducking under the nearest Peacekeeper and bringing my leg up into the stomach of a third as I skid through his legs. Another one tries to stop me, but ends up with a kick in the crotch for his troubles. I grin wildly, ducking and weaving through the crowd as I make my way to the exits and away from the escort, finally garnering stares from all the audience. I give a frenzied laugh. Imagine me, first guy to escape the Games before it starts! That's like the best victory ever!

I'm not looking where I'm going, so it's no surprise when I collide with someones fist, falling to the floor, my head in disarray.

As two Peacekeepers heft me to my feet and drag me to the stage where I'm supposed to pick the Capitol kid who's going with us, I look down and finally see the face of the man who got shot for the first time. I look down at his glassy, bagged eyes and I can't help but recoil. Larx. Suddenly I know why there isn't a crowd gathered around his corpse, why no one bothered to help him.

After all, who's going to cry over some old rapist.

* * *

><p><em>Asphalt Blomma age 14<em>

I heave a little sigh as I sink further into the blue grey liquid of the bubbling chemical bath, clutching a book in between my dull grey fingers, glad that the heavy tome is dye proof, otherwise it would be impossible to read. I would really hate to end up reading a dyed grey book, it just wouldn't be comfortable. District kids might say I'm shallow, just because I've got grey skin and green eyes but, really, they're idiots for believing that.

Skin dying is not a nice, easy job like many people in the Districts think it is. Basically you buy a special tub and a bucket load of chemicals and then, twice every year you go and just sit in there for a whole twenty four hours with this weird pack on your face and try to move as little as possible. It's a real chore, but well worth it if you don't want to be socially exiled for the rest of the year. District kids would probably say it was wasteful, decedent and useless but, you know what? It's called beauty. I don't think many kids outside the Capitol really have time for things like that.

Next to the white pod-like bath in which I sit, my brother and father sit in front of the television, laughing at something that someone has just said. I groan, secretly wishing that dad's manic chuckle will stop so that I can just read my book in peace. Folding the corner of the page to keep my place, I quickly close the book and place it by my feet, pressing the button that lowers the head cover of the pod, and I swivel round, staring at the two. A smile covers my face as I take them in. Seeing both of the 'men of the house' sitting next to each other always makes me giggle, since they're both so different and so odd. My father, with the manic grin, paper white skin and bright green hair, looks like a villain out of some old cartoon, and my brother, Fredericus (yes that is actually a name), or Fred for short, with his tangled purple hair and thousands of tattoos, might look threatening if I didn't know what he was really like. They're both outdated looks really, not up there with the current trends like peacock feathers, glow in the dark stuff and so called 'District' clothes, but then again it's as much as I can expect. I'm not exactly the most fashionable myself, the grey skin is really more to help me blend in as I stand pressed against the wall at lunch break, pretending to read while I listen into other people's conversations. Dad's not exactly hip either. He's still stuck in the age of Jivemental, a weird sub-genre twenty years back which had a thing for odd dances and weird clothes. Fred, my smile falters as I stare down at his bandaged legs and the wheelchair in which he sits, used to be cool. Since the 'accident' though, he's kind of drifted away from fashion, sports and friends and spends most of his time scooting around the house, moping.

It always makes me feel terrible whenever I look at his legs. I can't help feeling that it's all my fault. Seeing me looking at his legs, my brother grunts and moves them stiffly up to his chest, so that their blocked from my view by the arm rest.

"What's so funny?" I ask, trying to ignore the nonsensical blatherings of a random District One teen on the screen. My dad grins widely, pointing at the screen and giving another giggle.

"Get in the loop, Phelty!" He says. He's using that weird slang again, and calling me Phelty! I really hate it when he does that, "Check out this!" I stare at the screen, taking in the name of the teenager on screen, Glamor Pearlson. From what I've read, since all the Careers in District One are trained in schools in a sort of 'Youth Program' scheme, the Careers are chosen by a panel a year in advance and it's all very controlled. This boy was apparently meant to be doing it this year, but some non-Career kid stepped in at the last second and took the job. I'd be pretty mad if I were him, so I can't figure out why my family finds this so funny.

"So?" I ask, causing the pair to start laughing again.

"So it's bleeding hilarious!" Dad laughs, "You should be watching this Phelty, not messing about in some bath in the sitting room!"

Yes I realise that, technically, I am in the bath in the middle of our sitting room and in full view of the window that makes up the room's wall, but it doesn't matter that much. The only bit not covered by the bath is my head, which I can cover with the click of a button to read a book or watch a film on the entertainment system. Besides, I'm going to be in this thing for twenty four hours! Life has to go on you know!

"This guy's only on because the District Three competition draw got postponed," Fred drawls, jealousy obvious on in his eyes despite his large grin. He obviously notices that I know and bends down, smiling as he mutters into my ear. "Stupid kid. If I could walk I'd march right down to District One and let him no he's got it good, getting to live as long as he's supposed to!" My brother winks conspiratorially at me and I feign a giggle. Personally I love the Hunger Games, at age four I actually got to meet Claudius Templesmith and still cherish the memory as one of the greatest of my life, but my brother has never enjoyed them. The problem is as far as he believes, I hate them too and he hates them so much that he joined some 'Liberation' movement a couple of years back to stop them. It's named the 'People of Panem Against the Hunger Games', or PPAHG for short. Personally I thought this was a stupid idea, and I still do. Maybe I'm just being prejudice because I like the Games, but from all the books I've read, going against the Hunger Games is a really, really stupid idea, and I can't believe my brother would be foolish enough to fall in with one, let alone get me to keep quiet by subconsciously blackmailing me with those dead legs of his. I look back at the screen, glad that he doesn't know which book I've been reading as I lie in this vat of chemicals. If he ever realised I had a copy of 'Odds in my Favour: The Claudius Templesmith Story' he would probably blow a lid. I turn back to the screen just as the tall, handsome body of Glamor Pearlson disappears from the screen, to be replaced by the dark eyes of a man I don't recognise, standing at the podium in front of the golden reaping ball.

"Hello." The man begins nervously, obviously quite unused to public speaking, "I realise that a tribute is supposed to draw the name of the lucky guest but, unfortunately, the male tribute has been detained by Peacekeepers, and the female is currently recovering from a bullet wound." My brother gives a snort of a laugh, and both me and dad look at him. The man on stage smiles sadly, looking down into the golden Reaping ball and pressing a button. Names shoot from the ball, spraying everywhere in a rather spectacular fashion that garners several 'oohs' from Capitol crowds, but is quite out of place when compared to the misery on the face of the man. Even Hams looks slightly tearful, having just experienced a shooting, as she reaches out and grips a small piece of paper, the rest fluttering down on the heads of the crowd.

"Asphalt Blomma!" Hams calls, sounding definitely less cheerful than usual, despite her normal chipper demeanor.

As Claudius reappears on the screen, our house is filled with silence, and I can well imagine the office where my mother is watching going silent as they hear the name.

It's not a comfortable silence, though, my brother glaring at me over the voice of the wonderful Claudius and my dad sitting there, a grin slowly spreading over his face.

And then my dad bursts out laughing, he leaps to his feet, roaring with high pitched laughter. Normally this really creeps me out, but right now, as a big grin crosses my own face, it seems the perfect time to laugh. My father skips around the room, laughing all the while and, when the phone rings to let us know the good news, he is out the door before either of us can even register that the phone is ringing. I turn to Fred, his face still covered in that odd scowl.

"Don't you have anything to say?" I ask him, and his face curls into a sort of creepy smile.

"You've been given a chance Asphalt." He says, his voice dripping with something I don't quite recognise, "Really bring them down!" I shudder, there's something in that voice, something that really just creeps me out as I watch him.

I press a button, and the head visor rolls back over, covering my face and blocking out that horrifying smile from my sight.

* * *

><p>AN: Question of the Day: Is there a character in the Hunger Games who you love for no reason? (For example I really like Woof, despite the fact he does nothing in the books!)


	5. D4: Back From the Dead

A/N: Ah man, it's been so long since I last submitted a chapter, I bet you guys thought I'd died or something! Well, no, I moved house and, what with no internet, I haven't been able to post this chapter for ever. Please don't kill me. Anyway, sorry for the wait. For my last question, Clove seems to be the most popular answer, although my personal favorite was akatrixie's 'tree rat'!

* * *

><p>Anyway, these next few tributes are submitted by freakazoid123, Arcticmist and Alcatraz Incarnation. I hope there all as you see them, because I found all three of these tributes kind of hard to write, and I'm not sure if I got them all quite right. However, I feel I had a lot of liberty with Freddie and Iris, and so I kind of built their passages around what I found easy to write. Enjoy!<p>

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><p><strong>The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**District Four**

_Iris Beakley, age 15_

There are two things that my District, District Four, is known for above all other things. The things that, if you mentioned District Four to a kindergarten class anywhere in the world, they would instantly think of. The first is the sea and all the beautiful fish who inhabit it. That timeless image of the deep orange sun setting over the lip of the world that you get on every single Panem postcard ever made! It's kind of ridiculous really. I mean, sure there are lots of fishermen round here, my dad and brother included, but that doesn't mean fish and sea is the only thing District Four does, I, for example, help my mother at home, and that's pretty much all I do! Sea doesn't even really feature in my life. Nevertheless, mention District Four and this is the first thing everyone will think of.

And, don't get me wrong, I love the sea, but that's pretty much where my 'District-Four-ness, ends. I'm just saying this so that, when you think of that next thing, you don't think of me.

Because the next thing we're known for, is killing. Not fish, you understand, but kids. We're known for mercilessly butchering little twelve year olds we've never met for a pathetic reward! And the worst part is, we're not even very good at it!

It's a real shame, I think, as the water laps softly against me (OK, I know I said that I don't have anything to do with the sea, but that doesn't mean I can't go for a swim once in a while!), that we can't just forget about this whole ugly affair for once in our lifetime. I am waiting eagerly for the day when the president draws the quell card which reads 'Games are off this year, have a good one!' But instead we just get another 'kids die, who cares' card and, to make matters worse, some snotty nosed Capitol kids are being invited over to watch us die close up! Am I the only one who thinks that's totally messed up?

Looking over to the square, which is pretty near to where I'm swimming, it kind of seems like it. What with all the posters of victors and the streamers and the band playing, anyone would think that it were the premiere of a movie or something, not a celebration of violent murderers.

"Hey! Kid!" I look up from the water, staring at the young Peacekeeper who stands on the edge of the pier. That's who called me kid? Really? He can't be that much older than me. He's my brother's age at most.

"What?" I hiss at him, fixing him with a glare that can melt metal. The boy raises an eyebrow at me.

"Reaping time." he says, almost casually, like it's the most obvious thing in the world. Looking up, I can see the crowds swarming around the stage. Ah man, no one told me it was starting this early this year!

I roll my eyes as I pull myself out of the water, watching as a group of Careers race past me, jabbing with tridents, swinging heavy balls above their heads and generally trying to draw as much attention to themselves as possible, generally from members of the opposite sex. I spot a couple of the guys eying me up as they pass by. Unfortunately for me, both of them seem to be about three or four years younger than me, and I can't say I'm to pleased by the attentions of a couple of mini murderers-to-be, especially not ones who aren't even old enough to get reaped! God, sometimes I really wish that some guy my age would show some interest in me, but all the guys I know only ever seem interested in Career girls.

Like I said, I really don't like Careers.

"Iris Beakley?" a Peacekeeper asks as I make my way over to the brightly coloured fifteen's section, I nod and he ticks my name off. "Family's already here, Iris! Have fun at the Reapings!" I snort as I walk past him, as if anyone would ever consider the Reapings fun. I can tell that he's wondering why anyone would want to go swimming on Reaping day morning, when you could just go in the afternoon. Truth is, it's not the swimming that's important to me, this is my protest. Coming here in my swimsuit is my way of showing that I don't care what the Capitol think, and that I'm not going to be going along with their stupid Career stereotypes. I draw a few glances from the other girls as I slip in amongst all of them, dressed in Sunday best dresses and gleaming jewelry and walk up next to a few friends of mine, Dell, Marney and Maylinn, who are all dressed like me. I blush slightly, stepping in behind my neighbor Marney, so that I'm out of sight from the fifteen year old male section opposite us.

"Look who's here!" Marney chirps, turning round and clapping her hands together excitedly, "I thought you said you weren't doing it!"

"Yeah..." I mumble, rubbing my arm as Marney and Dell giggle, "Well... I was swimming anyway."

"Sure. We believe you." Dell chimes in a voice that tells me she definitely doesn't believe me.

OK, so maybe this idea isn't exactly 'my protest'. It's more my friend Maylinn's chance to show off. The girl in question beams at me as I take my spot, giving me a cheery thumbs up. She's not much of a talker, Maylinn, but she nice enough. I smile and Maylinn nods, turning back and staring at the stage. Or, at least, she tries to make it look like she's looking at the stage, but I'm pretty sure she's actually staring at Trey, one of my brother's friends, and the only guy except for Lew, Dell's brother, and Percival, a boy who Marney likes, who took up Maylinn's plan to show everyone how great we are. In fact, out of all of those three, I think Trey is probably the most in to the idea. Well he should be, after all, he's a good looking guy and he likes to show off, so turning up to the Reapings in trunks is kind of his thing. Looking over at Trey, I finally manage to spot my brother, Lyke, smiling at me from the seventeen's section, his hands buried deep in his pockets. I open my mouth to shout something to him, to wish him luck or something, but I don't get very far.

The Capitol Anthem, or 'theme tune' as Lew calls it, blares out across the square, swallowing whatever message I was going to give. All it gets me is a few stares from the girls around me as an incomprehensible gurgle forces its way out of my throat. I blush deeper, shifting around on my feet and trying to look inconspicuous.

When our escort steps onto the stage, I momentarily wonder if we have a female escort this year. But no, it seems that we have same old Pizzo, possibly the only male escort in all of Panem if you don't count old Sol in District One or the old man from District Seven. It's still always hard to tell that our portly escort is a man, what with the pink hair and eyes, purple eyeliner and bottle green suit and nails, Pizzo looks more than a little feminine!

"Good morning District Four!" Pizzo shouts in his husky old voice as he stares down at the rows of cheering Careers, "Are you ready to find out who your tributes are this year?" The crowd whoop their approval, and even our thin faced Mayor has a genuine smile on her face as the escort bounces and leaps around the stage, being surprisingly light on his feet for a man who clearly can't see them. "Now," The man purrs as he steps up to a Reaping ball, "I always like to mix things up, so let's start with a boy!" Scooping up a name from the Reaping ball, and almost falling in as he tries, Pizzo slicks back his dyed hair and reads the name.

"Niklus Sheen!" Pizzo calls, and a lanky thirteen year old steps out of the crowd, unfazed as he is suddenly surged by a wave of Careers, all of whom are pushing their way towards the stage. Looking over, I can see Marley giggling as a pair of brutish seventeen year olds fall on top of Dell, before getting up and flusteredly apologizing, going red in the face as they back away from the furious girl, and are then instantly knocked down by a short, dark skinned eighteen year old with hooded green eyes. Despite the man's short stature and apparent lack of muscles, he pushes his way onto the stage and smiles down at the cheering crowd.

"I, Freddy Black," He begins, leaving long pauses in his speech to keep his audience in suspense. He's a Career alright. A real showman. "Accept my fate as your tribute. Thank You." I roll my eyes again, and watch as Pizzo steps over to the girl's Reaping ball and hovers for a minute, waiting until the applause dies down to lurch in and grab a slip.

"Iris Beakley!" He roars, and the girl's around me look at me, surprised but unafraid. After all, they all know that someone's going to volunteer for me.

But, for some reason, some insane, inexplicable reason, I don't feel the same. After all, why would any Career want to volunteer for me? I don't even know any of them. To them, I'm just some skinny, wimpy fifteen year old who was stupid enough to turn up in her swimsuit on a dare. There's only one reason any of them would want to volunteer for me- glory.

And, for some reason, that makes me mad. How dare they! How dare they think they can just use me for their own stupid ego!

My mind goes blank as I step out of the crowd, charging towards the stage as if my life depends on it which, I realise with a start, it probably does.

Pushing my way through the crowd of scuffling Career girls, I finally stagger up onto the stage and look down at the crowd.

"And what's your name?" Pizzo asks with a grin. I tell him, and he looks startled, I guess he was expecting me to be a Career. Yeah right! Like I said, I hate Careers and, for once in my life, I'm taking a stand. I'm not going to let a bunch of kids suffer at the hands of another stupid Career alliance just because I got cold feet. It would ruin everything our protest stood for.

The male Career looks me up and down as we shake hands. He's not much taller than me, I reckon I could take him in a fight. That or swim away.

"I like your costume." he sneers, his voice low and dark. Despite the situation, I really can't help not blushing when he says that!

* * *

><p><em>Freddy Black, age 18<em>

I am, and always have been, a firm believer in destiny. What is going to happen will happen, and there's nothing anyone can do to stop it.

Take today for example. It's destiny that both me and my little sister Chelsea decided to sneak out to train at the same time. It's destiny that we ended up meeting in the middle of the woods and decided to duel to decide which one of us deserves to volunteer the most this year and, of course, it's destiny that I happened to kick her sorry butt with nothing but a sharpened piece of rock. It sounds stupid to classify those sort of things as destiny, but yeah, that was pretty much what was fated to happen.

Chelsea glares at me as she pulls herself to her feet and begins to suck her thumb, which I wasn't aware I had cut, while she regards me with her cold, dark eyes.

"Good one Freddy," she mutters, the sound muffled by "Thanks a lot." I smile slyly at her as she stumbles to her feet with the help of a spear and glowers at me from beneath her dark hair.

"Have I done something wrong," I smile, my lips curling up and my eyes narrowing as I try to seem pleasant, "Other than kick your proverbial butt."

"Oh ha ha, you're such a comedian!" Chelsea snaps, rubbing her leg as she leans forward and pulls herself to her feet. It's a good act, this biting scorn, but I can tell that something's wrong. I can see the tears dancing in the corner of her eyes.

"Of course." I sneer, (and yes, my entire family talks like this, an unfortunate side effect of too many English classes at school to prepare us for volunteering), "And your foul mood this morning isn't anything to do with the fact I just beat you with nothing but a piece of rock, is it?" Chelsea looks up at me and snorts impolitely, taking what I'm sure is designed to be a threatening step towards me, which is totally ruined by the fact that my sister is less than five feet tall and limping. Yeah, some Career.

"Yeah. Right." Chelsea snarls, ripping a training sword from its scabbard at her waist and swinging the blunted blade at my head, hoping to knock me unconscious. The blow connects, Chelsea is, after all, still a Career, and knocks me to the ground. A smile crosses over Chelsea's face, making her look rather shark-like, but this grin soon disappears as my fist lashes out at her. She dodges, quick on her feet, wincing as the right one touches the ground but, as always, can't quite manage to pull her spear up out of the way before my hand connects with it. I twist it out of her grasp, watching as she stumbles and falls before pressing the dulled point to her throat. Chelsea stares for a minute, completely flabbergasted, then begins to complain about how stealing someone else's weapon is cheating.

"There is no cheating in the Arena." I hiss at her, "Now quiet." She shuts up and I kneel down next to her, slowly lifting her right trouser leg and rolling down her sock in order to inspect the injury. A savage scar runs from one end of her ankle to the other, dribbling with blood which leeks into her tactically coloured red trousers. "You can't walk on this." I say, the concern in my voice obvious despite my forced smile.

"It's your fault." She complains, attempting to twist away from my grasp, this time I really do smile. We both know that a sharpened rock can't make a wound like this. This is a sword blow, which means one of two things. Either she tripped over her own weapon, a hilarious possibility, but too unlikely to be true, or someone did this to her while she was training and she doesn't want to tell me who. In that case it's bound to be that Cray kid, the ass of a seventeen year old who she's been dating for the past four months. I grind my teeth together as I lift her and swing over my shoulder, turning in the direction of home and carrying her back. She's not exactly grateful, to say the least, and spends the entire trip swearing at me and begging me to let her swim home instead. While I'm sure she could do that on just one leg, we're about three miles out and I don't think the salt water would help that gash on her leg at all. Chelsea is even less pleased when I climb the steps to our seaside house, chuck her unceremoniously on her bed and quickly file a warrant of sickness with the local Peacekeeper, excluding her from Volunteering this year. She shrieks every curse that jerk Cray has taught her at me, waking up not only my parents, but also every other nearby house and several seagulls, and earning herself a severe grounding from my worn out mother. I really don't see how my sister can consider this my fault. It's a simple combination of fate and her idiot boyfriend. She should have seen it coming.

Having got up and prepared for the Reapings before daylght, I set off before my parents and am, unsurprisingly, among the first to arrive at the town square, which is actually more of a pier. Unfortunately, this also means that I have to set up, and I get several odd looks from a group of idiots who decided to show up in their swim costumes as I shimmy up the various streetlights in my Sunday best, hanging posters and banners and rigging up spotlights to shine blindingly at the stage. By the time the mayor steps up to begin reading the Treaty, I'm glad of the rest. As the woman begins to read in her bored monotone, I gaze around, spotting my sister dressed in a fancy white gown, standing near those idiots in their swim wear. Well, she'd obviously managed to convince dad to let her see the Reapings. I can't say I blame her.

The entire Reaping is boring and, as always, Pizzo choses the boy's first. As planned, I volunteer. As I make my way through the brawling Careers to the stage, I spot Cray and one of his lunkhead friends, toppling onto one of those girl's near my sister. The lecherous savages pretend it was an accident, but it's pretty obvious this was planned, and I take a second to knock them both, teeth first, into the ground as I pass, before mounting the stage and introducing myself to the baying crowd.

A girl called Iris Beakley is chosen next, and I am more than a little surprised when one of the bikini wearing idiots, a scrawny, rather plain looking brunette with her hair in a French braid (why it is called that I will never know) accepts her fate. I can tell she's not a Career almost immediately, partly because she's blushing and partly because of how she's shuffling her feet, but mostly because I can see most of her body, and not one bit of it looks muscled. That takes bravery, going up even though at least twenty people want to volunteer for you, and when I shake her hand the smile on my face is genuine. The girl soon releases my hand however, shaking and blushing too much to really concentrate on the Capitol card she is passed by the ever grinning Pizzo. Some boy named 'Jhoker Silo' is chosen, and we are quickly escorted to the justice building and welcomed into one of the most nicely decorated, most spacious rooms I have ever seen. It's a nice thought that we, or at least the tributes in the other Districts, get to say goodbye in comfort.

While, on the other side of the room, my partners goodbyes are long and tearful as she is hugged by her six friends, two siblings and parents all at once, my own are short and surprisingly deadpan in comparison. I'm a Career after all, everyone knew I was planning to volunteer this year and most of my friends had already wished me luck in the crowd. Some of them even punched me in the face to make sure they could volunteer instead. My parents farewells are brief and pride filled, but barely audible over the shaky sobs of the girl who Cray knocked over. I've only been in here for three minutes and I can already tell you the names of all of my partner's friends. I can tell you that my sister spent her entire time complaining about how the girl who got chosen was her age and not a Career. I can tell you that her and one of the girl's friends were dragged out two minutes in, one for becoming hysterical, the other for yelling profanities at a Gamesmaker. I'll let you guess which one is which. I can tell you all these little things. I can't, however, tell you what the last thing my parents said to me, because it was drowned out by tears and curses.

I'm a Career, it's my fate to fight in the Games and I know that. Nevertheless, I really wish I could have had a goodbye like Iris did. Just for once.

But I know that can't ever happen. I'm a Career. This is my destiny.

* * *

><p><em>Jhoker Silo, age 15<em>

'There is a place reserved in hell for whoever said that people who live in the Capitol don't suffer.

It seems harsh, I know, after all, the Districts aren't exactly family friendly. I spent just over half my life so far watching my parents work on some desolate marine plantation in District Four, so I should know that their life isn't all peachy. But here? God, the errands my masters make me go on. I fetch things, I write letters, I follow Master to parties and carry him out when he faints, I carry Mistress' shopping, I carry Younger Master's piano music etcetera, etcetera. It's enough to make anyone scream.

That were, if I had a tongue.

Which I don't. Cos I'm an Avox (If that wasn't clear enough already). I've got a nose, eyes and hands, but no tongue. I don't really know why the take out the tongue, wouldn't a full frontal lobotomy just get me out of the way quicker? I suppose they take it out so we can't answer back or something. Whatever, doesn't stop me trying.'

Talking, well thinking, about trying, it's at this instance that my Master chooses to open the door I'm leaning against in the So-called Servant's Quarters and knocks me to the ground, beaming obliviously at me as he towers over me. My stomach lurches as his artificially huge grin widens and for about the bazillionth time I am repulsed by my Master looks. How on earth did I survive when I was bought here as a little eight year old, a little orphan, gawking at every single man, woman and child who walked past with a funny hair colour. Heck, the first time I saw Master, with his improbably huge build, purple skin and pale white eyes, I actually fainted at the sight of him. Funny thing really, cos so did he. I look down at my hands, which are entirely covered with checkered green and brown squares that rise from my hands up to my elbows. They look 'cute' according to my Mistress and they 'match my eyes', but God were they painful to get.

If any of you have ever been given a tattoo in bumper car, you'll know exactly what it's like. Searing pain covering my entire arms from my hands up to my elbows, to such a point that I thought I might never use them again! It was the second most painful experience of my life (The first was being turned into an Avox, obviously)!

Anyway, my Master quickly surveys the room, taking in the variety of Avoxes who are scurrying to line the walls, wondering if this is a surprise inspection or something. My master frowns as his eyes pass over the haggard array of Avoxes, from the oldest, a sixty year old woman who had rebelled along with District Thirteen almost forty years ago, to the youngest, a boy of just five who had been arrested a few weeks back for pickpocketing, and who my Mistress has taken a definite shine to.

"Avox 19?" My Master calls and, recognising my name, I stand to attention, pocketing my small diary and smiling forcedly at the man. "Ah! There you are!" He roars, spitting slightly and gripping me, rather too tightly, by the shoulder and pulling me into his overly muscled chest. "Come." I glare at him as he leads me out of the room and up a spiral set of stairs. Piano music trickles down as we march higher and, as we near the top, Master grins toothily down at me, beckoning another Avox, a young woman holding a tray of teas, over to join us without looking at her and beginning to speak. "You're a District kid right?" He smiles, his voice dripping with badly disguised contempt. I want to swear at him, to tell him that of course I'm a District kid, where the hell did he think I came from, the Moon? I can't though, because of the whole missing tongue thing, and so I just glare at him and nod silently. "Good, good." His grin widens and he turns to me, as if he's about to give me the best news I've ever heard. Yeah right. "How would you like to see your District again?"

...

Okay, I know it sounds like a set up for a really mean prank, but that could possibly be the best news I've ever heard!

China teacups crash to the floor behind us, and we both spin around, staring at the Avox girl, a friend of mine by the name of Ezzy who, if my charades is right, was 'Avoxed' for joining a group called the Capitol Liberation Front. She's dropped the tea tray, scattering sugar lumps and milk and bits of broken china everywhere and sending waterfalls of tea cascading down the stairs. I can understand it, after all, Ezzy and I have known each other since I moved here. At the age of thirteen, she'd spotted me as a scared eight year old. She'd picked me up, given me my diary and talked, well mimed, to me until I felt better. Over the years we've laughed, she's cried (I'm not the crying type), we've shared our hopes and dreams. She's the only one, I think, who actually knows that I've always wanted to go home. To see my parents back in District Four and wrap my arms around them.

My Master doesn't understand, however. As far as he's concerned Avoxes are a stupid, gullible lot and this is just Ezzy being clumsy. A massive fist lashes out from nowhere and hammers into her stomach, sending her stumbling back to the edge of the landing and almost toppling down the stairs. I give a sigh of relief as she regains balance, pouting sourly at the shirtless, white eyed Master of mine.

"Be careful Avox 17!" My master barks, before turning back to me and wrapping a strong arm around my shoulder, and I do mean strong. Seriously, I try to push this guy away and he doesn't even notices. "Now, Number 19, where was I? Ah yes. This new Games." I jump as he says that and he gives a great booming laugh, slapping me on the back with enough force to knock me to the floor. "You haven't been watching the Games! Well, I suppose not, you are an Avox after all! Anyway, no need to worry, but Capitol kids are being selected this year! No one dies of course but, you see, my young Sculptor is going to win the prize of going there and, as you know, I don't want any... problems." My ears prick up as my Master mentions the name of his son, the Younger Master, as I have learnt to call him over my years of being here. The man intrigues me. He's a couple of years older than me and a couple of centimeters shorter, with a face that always makes him look like he's posing for a photo. He's a whiz at the piano, a real prodigy with a brain big enough to sink a battleship and an army of adoring fans lined up outside his door. But that's not what interests me about him. What interests me is that this boy, with a fashion designer for a father and a TV show host for a mother, grew up like this at all. I would have expected him to be an arrogant jerk, more interested in his looks than his brain, and incredibly open with his emotions (someone like me, in other words). Instead, me and him are almost entirely different. He's a quiet, pensive boy who barely says a word if he hasn't already planned it and I'm a jackass jock who can't say a word even if he tries! He's an enigma, and that's why I'm interested.

I'm not completely surprised though. Unlike most of the Avoxes, I get out a lot, following my Master to parties and all other sorts of menial tasks at shady nightclubs so, unlike most Avoxes, I already knew that the Games Makers thought it would be a hoot to send in Capitol kids to meet the real tributes and that those kids aren't going into the Arena. Heck, I even knew that he planned to send someone to protect Sculptor from getting mobbed _and _that he's bribed the Escorts of Districts Four and Six to make sure there were an inordinate amount of slips with his son, and the boy's protector's names on them (God, the things people can do with a piano prodigy and a small fortune)! I may be an Avox, but I'm not an idiot, nothing gets past Jhoker Silo.

The one thing that does surprise me, however, is that I'm the guy he chose as protector. I mean, I'm kind of strong I guess, but, firstly, I'm two years younger than the 'Young Master', secondly, I have no experience of the outside world other than clubbing and, finally, I'm a freaking Avox! Surely there's a rule against this! I try to ask him as much but it comes out more as:

"Guh Ahm Un Avrrr! Su thu uh rug thirrr..." Yeah it's not pretty and it makes both Ezzy and my Master laugh, but I think I get my point across, because the next thing I know my Master is explaining it all for me.

"Yes, it's not the most legal thing, but it's not illegal either." He smiles, speaking slowly and clearly, as though he were speaking to a complete idiot, "You see, I have a lot of money and, should news get out that my son were in the Games, well, I don't think he'd be able to hold off a kidnapping all on his own, and then I and my wife would be in a rather sticky situation." He gives a deep breath, looking at me as though asking for a response. I obviously don't give one, so he continues. "There are, in fact, no rules excluding bribery from the choice, in fact bribery is wholeheartedly encouraged, it's what made this nation great after all. There are, however, rules saying that I am only allowed to use bribery to secure a prize for one human being, and that's the beauty part." He grins down at me, as though expecting me to understand what he's telling me. I don't. His grin widens to almost reaching his ears, and for a moment I think his head might roll off. Unfortunately, it doesn't and my Master begins to explain. "You're an Avox," He clutches his sides and roars with laughter, "You don't count as human!"

There is a brief pause, in which time I mouth every curse word I know at him, wishing for all the world that I had my tongue, so that I could really make use of my colouful vocabulary, and he checks his watch, grinning widely as he waits for me to calm down. A hand reaches into a pocket on his spiked, diamond studded trousers, and he retrieves an apple, tossing it to me.

"You'll need your strength for when your chosen, which believe me you shall be, so eat up," He mutters, his voice returning to a disinterested mutter as he stalks off into his lounge, throwing open the doors and beckoning Ezzy, the Avox girl who is still picking up shards of china, ordering her to flick on the television. I look at the screen and spot a short balding man, reading the name of someone by the name of 'Asfalt Blomma'. My Master turns back to me for a second, grinning widely as a giant '4' flashes on the screen.

"Oh, and Jhoker," He simpers, "If everything goes smoothly you shall be granted clemency. You will be given a prosthetic tongue and returned home to your loving family. It will be like none of this ever happened." He winks at me and turns away, soaking up the sound of the HGTV presenters, all of whom are payed far less than his wife.

Nice guy, huh? Yeah right! More like a bad comedian. Like he'd really let me get away from him just for protecting his kid for a week or two. He's just using clemency as an incentive, to trick me into working hard. Like I said, Avoxes just have the tongue removed, not the whole bloody brain! I stick up my middle finger at my 'Master' as he walks away, biting into the apple and trying to forget my worries.

You ever tried eating an apple without a tongue.

* * *

><p>AN: Question of the Day: If you were in the Hunger Games, what would be your token?


	6. D5: Fighting for Something

A/N: Also, I have finally chosen the male tribute for District Eight. It was a hard decision but, eventually, I chose Velour Tweed, made by MySoulToReap, despite the fact she already submitted two tributes. Instead, the runner up, Gary Stu Milton, will appear in the Games, but not as a tribute. Count yourself lucky Gary, you survived! This time...

* * *

><p>These next few tributes are submitted by BlueSkyKite, and the second tributes of TheSkyCries and arcticmist. All three tributes have very different, and very in depth, histories and a lot of detail and thought behind them. This is, for me, the District that took the most thought as, Zane especially had a lot that needed including. So have fun!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**District Five**

_Amaya Nil, age 16_

I swing my blade, tensing as I use it to feel ahead of me. My nose twitches slightly as I sniff the air, I jump at every little sound and spin round to confront my invisible enemy. As much as I try, my breathing still comes out in short, sharp, bursts, and I spin on my feet, swinging my sword wildly as I try to find it.

CLANG!

A deafening clank rattles my sword as it comes into contact with another gong and I double back, stumbling away from it as I try to get as much distance between myself and the gong as possible. If I can't Drew will catch me and, if Drew catches me, Oda is sure to fail me.

Smacking into another gong, I stumble backwards and straight into a group of bells. Ok, there's no way that Drew doesn't know where I am now! I can hear him, in the dark, lumbering closer and closer to me, dragging what sounds uncomfortably like a chair behind him as he gets closer. I can already tell he won't be using it for sitting! I snarl, slashing in his direction with my sword. As the sword curls above my head I bring in the second sword, the one in my left hand, in close to my body in a defensive stance.

Cold water splashes onto my head and I blink, feeling it as it rolls off my shoulders and drips down into my collar, making me shiver. The water balloon, the one I was supposed to be popping, was right over my head! Why didn't anyone tell me? Ah well, I guess that, for once, no one else can see in here either.

From somewhere to my left I hear a voice, and turn my head as my trainer, Oda Herph, begins to speak.

"Very good Amaya!" The man says, his warm tones interrupted by the sound of a light switch, "You're the only student I've ever had who is just as skilled in broad daylight as you are in pitch black." A slight smile creeps over my normally emotionless face. I'm glad Oda made that jibe at my expense. It shows that he doesn't think of me as the defenceless little blind girl like everyone else. It's sort of refreshing to have someone who doesn't see me as that. Heck, even Drew pities me, and he's pretty much hired to beat me up. He's a burly fourteen year old and, from where his voice comes from when he speaks, I get the feeling that he's quite a bit taller than me.

"Well." Oda laughs, his deep voice filled with warmth as he claps his hands together and turns to where I'm sure Drew is standing. "Looks like Amaya's shaping up to be one of the best of us eh?" Drew grunts and, on the bench behind me, I can hear a few of the 'new recruits', in other words the kids whose parents were scared enough to try and train them for the games, shuffle their feet and pull at their collars. My face stays perfectly still, but I have to say it's kind funny that I, the only girl in the group, and a blind one at that, am more talented than a whole group of guys, even if they're all younger than me.

"So." I begin, turning to where I'm pretty sure Oda is.

"So?" His voice comes from behind me and I spin to face him, my face burning. Oda chuckles and I wrinkle my nose, pulling at my tracksuit top as I twist my face into what I think is a sweet and seductive expression. The chuckles the guys make shows me that I've obviously failed. Well don't blame me! I don't even know what my own face looks like, let alone a seductive smile. None of those little embarrassment really matters now though. I've been wanting to ask this for years, ever since I snuck away from my parents age ten and ended up wandering into Oda's mansion by mistake. Ever since he started training me back when he was sixteen and I first picked up one of the sleek double swords from the oak weapons rack. No amount of looking stupid is going to stop me.

"Does this mean I'm ready to volunteer this year?" I ask, trying not to betray my excitement in my voice. Oda makes an odd choking noise and for a moment it sounds like he's choking on something. When he speaks next, his voice is shaky and sounds pained.

"N-no!" He gasps, "You are not ready to volunteer, and I hope that you never will be!"

"Why?" I ask, blood pounding in my ears as I feel anger bubble up inside me.

"People die in those Games, Amaya, and I you are never going to those Games willingly while I have breath in my body!"

"Why not?" I snort, "You survived! And I'm your best pupil! If anyone is going to survive it is going to be me!"

"Take this seriously!" Oda roars, stepping closer to me, "This is important! There are people out there who have been training all their life for this purpose!"

"Well I can beat them!" I retort, prodding Oda in the stomach with my finger. The man growls, grabbing my hand and shoving it away.

"You're not a Career!" Oda bellows, his voice filled with desperation, "You can't even see!" There is a long pause, as the boy's sitting on the benches shuffle their feet. The only sound is Oda's heavy breathing and I lower my head, my face twisting into a furious scowl.

"So that's it, is it?" I mutter, my voice barely more than a whisper, but it carries through the large room as well as if I were shouting, "I can't volunteer because I'm blind, because you think I'm too weak. God, you're just like my parents."

"Amaya..." Oda begins, but I shut him down.

"No!" I roar, "Don't you 'Amaya' me! I'm not a poor little girl Oda! I can take care of myself!" I turn, storming out of the room, my hands balled into fists. I can hear Oda stepping forwards to stop me and I spin around, throwing a training weight straight at him. I'm pretty sure he catches it easily, and that just makes me even madder. "You think I need your pity? Well, screw you!"

I shiver as the cold winds of District Five hit me as I exit the mansion and begin to stumble through the snow clogged streets of the Victor's Village unable, in my anger, to remember which direction the town square is in. In fact, I'm almost grateful when a Peacekeeper spots me and, assuming I'm playing truant, nearly smacks me in the face with a truncheon and drags me to the center square. It's not the most heroic way to enter the Reapings on the day you're going to volunteer, but I suppose it beats getting lost and not being able to volunteer. That would just be proving Oda right!

By the time I've found the sixteen's section and found a place the Treaty of Treason is already being read. The mayor, a pompous, arrogant man by the name of Heartford Rapido stands on stage, running off some stupid, long-winded speech about the importance of District Five being a Career District. It's a nice idea, and one I whole heartedly support, why should someone have to go to the Games if they don't want to, but last year it cost him dear, when his own son volunteered for the Games and was slaughtered in the bloodbath. I'm going to make sure that the same thing doesn't happen to me!

"Hello Ladies and Gentlemen!" I jump as what sounds like a banshees wail silences the quiet mutterings of the audience. That's definitely not the mayor. Did they finally get a new escort for District Five. Well... damn...

I cover my ears as the voice continues, but my hands are no match for the powerful lungs on that woman, or possibly man. It's impossible to tell what gender they are. "Shall we get onto the Reapings then!" The Escort cries, unaware of the soft moans of anguish coming from the twelve year old section in front of her. "Ladies first..." There is a sharp intake of breath from most of the girls around me, and I smile slightly, knowing exactly who's going up there. "Vasilisa Brookshier!" The Escort shrieks and I cringe slightly. Vasilisa? I wouldn't even know where to begin spelling that (then again, I can't write, so I guess I'd have trouble spelling anything)! Anyway, I pretty much just do what I've heard every Career District do for the last sixteen years, go nuts. I wave my hands in the air shouting 'I volunteer' and rush out of the sixteen year old's section.

I don't exactly get the response I wanted. A few people laugh, a few mumble apologies as I go past, most are deathly silent. I can hear my mother howling with sobs nearby and my father trying to comfort her and, as I'm helped onto the stage by a pair of Peacekeepers, I can even hear Oda tutting and shaking his head. I can already tell that my farewells are going to be long and tedious. Heartford Rapido groans as he sees me and mutters to whoever is next to him.

"This is who volunteered? Why, she's barely a teenager, and blind at that. And we were this close to having a strong, vicious looking eighteen year old!"

"I Amaya Nil..." I cry, but the banshee voiced Escort screeches over me.

"Zane!" I can hear the Escort turning the paper, looking for a last name that, apparently, isn't there. From the sounds of the boy's footfalls on the floor, he's quite a bit lighter than me, and not wearing any shoes by the sound of things. When his hand fastens around mine, however, I realise that his grip is much stronger than I had originally expected. He's got strong shoulders and a scar on the back of his hand. He's wheezing ever so slightly, so I guess there's something wrong with his chest, asthma maybe. I almost feel like laughing. He doesn't seem like much of a threat. Well, I guess you could say the same about me, a weak little blind girl who volunteered to end her suffering apparently. Overall, we don't seem like the most likely pair to win the Games.

I don't really care though. I'm here, standing on this stage in my training suit, my short hair blowing in the crisp morning wind, feeling on top of the world. They'll all know I'm not as weak as they thought, and that's all that matters to me.

* * *

><p><em>Zane, age 15<em>

Reaping day. Early morning. This is the time when the kids in the Capitol are still snuggled down in bed, waiting patiently for their kindly father, or mother, to wake them with a soft kiss on the forehead and the promise of breakfast. This is the time of day when the nocturnal animals are all asleep and the diurnal ones haven't woken up yet.

So what the heck am I doing running around on the hills with a pack full of wood on my back? I shiver, pulling my coat around me as the snow begins to drift down from the heavens and tangle into my hair. I groan, bitterly wishing that I'd bothered to put on my boots before going out this morning, and hadn't instead decided it would be a better idea to go barefoot. I should have listened to Nano when he told me to put something on my feet, but I just don't feel comfortable in shoes. I need to be able to feel the ground beneath my feet, otherwise none of this would seem real. The silence. The stillness. The loneliness of it all. I suppose it should be calming but, to me, it just feels fake. Fake and desolate. It reminds me of all the things I've lost, everything I could have had.

My breath comes out in short gasps as I reach the edge of the town that dominates the center of District Five. A few people stare at me as I run past, their eyebrows raised and their mouths agape. I ignore them. They're not worth getting mad over. No one ever is unless they try to cause trouble with me.

As the town square grows nearer, I hear someone running next to me and, looking sideways, I notice a small nineteen year old, shorter than me, who fixes me with a lazy smile. Looking down at his hands, I can see a large bundle of knotted rope tangling his hands together, and I smile widely. Notts. A coworker at The Yard and also my best, and possibly only, friend.

"Mornin' Zane!" Notts drawls, his hand somehow slipping out of the ball of rope that surrounds it and clasping me by the shoulder, stopping me dead in my tracks and very nearly tipping me onto my butt. I glare at him as I steady myself and Notts smiles lazily at me and I can't really hold it against him. It's been weeks since I've seen him and, apart from Nano and my sister Lily, he's really the only guy I ever talk to. He has friends his age, so it's kind of odd that he would like to hang out with me, a kid half his age. I always wonder if it's because he looks the same age as me anyway and hanging out with me makes him feel normal. Casting aside the thought, I decide to make the best of seeing him. There isn't much chance for pleasure on Reaping day, so I guess it's a good idea to take any opportunity I get to talk to a friend.

The rest of the walk to the town square is a lot more comfortable and, as my breathing returns to normal, I can finally relax and talk freely. The subject doesn't even matter and I know full well that Notts isn't listening to half my ideas, but I don't care. It's not the talking that matters, it's just that your getting your ideas out there, and that there's someone there to listen, even if they decide not to. It's pleasant and for a while I even forget about my freezing feet, but something makes it feel different. For one, Notts seems less interested than usual with what I have to say, which is pretty odd in itself and, secondly, he keeps tilting up the collar of his long, battered coat whenever we pass someone he knows. He did this last time we saw each other as well. It's like he's embarrassed to be seen with me. I can't say I blame him. I'd be pretty embarrassed if I was known for being a lazy slacker whose only skill was tying knots and hang out with some eleven year old. Actually, that's a perfect description of what I thought Notts was like when I first met him!

As we draw closer to the town center the streets become more and more packed with all manner of men, women and children, all wrapped up in long coats, thick hats and sturdy shoes. I'm starting to think I might be standing out a bit with my lack of shoes and coat. I'm also starting to get quite cold.

The street center itself is completely packed with people and it's not long before Notts spots his girlfriend, a shrill, possessive girl by the name of Lynda, who I'm pretty sure hates my guts. She's one of those classic dumb blonds with a really annoying high pitched voice and seems to be the only person who is willing to date Notts despite the fact that he is about a foot shorter than her and has a face like a ten year old kid. As you can probably guess, I'm not exactly fond of Lynda. Seeing her, however, puts Notts in a good mood and, slicking back his hair and winking in her direction, the pair of us head over to get registered.

"Notts Young," Notts mutters, his eyes dropping as though he is about to fall asleep, "Nineteen." The Peacekeeper, a blond woman with a rather angry face, does a double take, staring down at the boy and even I have to admit I'm surprised. I thought this was Notts last year, not his first one as a free man (relatively speaking)!

"Since when." The woman spits, suspicious.

"Since last week," My friend grins, flicking out his ID and passing it over to him. "The 'Young' is ironic, see." He smiles, before taking in the bemused gaze of the Peacekeeper and stalking away muttering something about 'no sense of humour.' The Peacekeeper groans, turning to me and asking for my name and age.

"Zane, 15." I groan, knowing full well what's coming next.

"Surname?" The Peacekeeper growls and I look at my feet, knowing that I can't answer her. After all, how the hell am I supposed to know what my surname is. My mom left when I was just a baby and everyone my dad knew just called him Kane, which was his first name. Truth is that I'm probably the only kid in the District not to know their surname and it sucks. It makes me feel like there's part of me that should be there, but isn't. Like, not only have I lost my family, but the world is trying to make me forget I ever had a family.

"Surname?" The Peacekeeper snarls impatiently, tapping her foot on the ground, "Look kid, you probably think you're being really clever with this silent stuff but I've had like, fifty ten year olds do this this morning and I'm really not in the..."

"He's with me." A rasping voice says from behind me as a gloved hand grips my shoulder and, from the pale shade the Peacekeeper's face takes, I'd have known it was Nano even if he hadn't spoken. The Peacekeeper, their voice stuck in their throat, gives a quick bow and escorts me in, glancing up at the thin, grey haired old man in the top hat who follows me.

Nano Krish is my adopted dad of sorts and, on top of that, the previous mayor of District Five before that idiot Rapido took over eight years ago, at about the same time Nano took us in. He doesn't have any kids of his own and, while I think he was married a long time ago, his wife either died or they divorced, because he doesn't have anyone except us any more. He's sort of grouchy but we get on I guess, and he's probably the only guy in the whole of District Five who I'd trust with my life, and that includes Notts and Lily.

Nano stares down at me, his eyes dark and, stepping to one side, lets Lily run past him and grab my arm. I pat her back as she cries about how she doesn't want to get Reaped and assure her that there's no other way. For a second, I can see a flash of sadness in Nano's eyes, but he shakes it off and lifts his staff, pointing it towards me like some form of grim, wolf-head topped rifle aimed at me.

"It's her first Games this year." He mutters, as if I could forget this was my sister's first year. She would have been doing it last year too if she ha been born two weeks earlier. "Look after her." I nod and he gives me a brief smile, ruffling both our hairs before turning and stomping towards the outskirts of the crowd. I smile, offering my sister a battered piece of cloth to dry my eyes on as I make my way towards the fifteen's section and she wanders off to the twelve's. Heartford is doing his usual ego driven speeches, so I take the time to contemplate the Reapings ahead.

I can't really blame Nano for his unfeeling goodbye, after all, he and I both share one thing in common. Neither of us want Lily to get Reaped. She's my little sister after all, and Nano cares about her as much as I do, even if he doesn't tell me why. Some people would claim that he doesn't care about me but, even if it were true, I wouldn't really care. Like I said, he's gruff, and he cares about Lily which, in my books, is a lot more important than caring about me. It suddenly occurs to me that I don't quite know how I'm supposed to 'look after' Lily. I guess the only thing I can do is pray she doesn't get Reaped and, if she does, Volunteer alongside her and protect her from the Games. My final sacrifice.

Up on the stage Heartford finally finishes his annoyingly long speech and passes over to our new Escort, Chey, a short girl who can't be much older than eighteen herself. It's been three years since old Prol died, so it's sort of surreal to suddenly get an Escort after three years of Heartford doing it. I have to say I'm glad. I am slightly less glad when our green skinned escort opens her mouth and reveals that she actually sounds like an off-key opera singer! I already don't like her and I have a feeling that, if she pulls up a name starting with an 'L', I'm really going to start hating her. Chey grins, booming out a hasty hello and dipping her froggish hand into the first great glass ball and I, along with half the female population of District, hold my breath. My heart clenches into a ball, moves into my mouth and threatens to explode all at once and a sudden cold falls over me which, for once, has absolutely nothing to do with my lack of shoes.

"Vasilisa Brookshier!" I give a sigh of relief as a nervous blond steps out of the seventeen's section, looking nervous as she begins to make her way to the center. She's about halfway there when something that none of us ever expected happens.

Someone volunteers.

This new girl is about a year younger than 'Vasilisa' and, from the range of responses from the audience I get the feeling that a lot of people know her. That and no one knew she was volunteering. Big whoop, I never knew her and, as far as I'm concerned, she went their willingly. As long as she doesn't turn out to be Lily in disguise, I can't say it really bothers me that much. In fact, I don't really care about these Games now I know that Lily won't be in them. As our Escort reaches into the second Reaping ball I don't even react. I don't care who gets Reaped. Lily's safe, it doesn't matter to me. It wouldn't even matter to me if the name that she picked was...

"Zane!"

... That.

My brow furrows and I cock my head, my brain a blank. I sigh and, in what is probably the lamest response to getting Reaped ever, say the words that are sure to immortalise me should I win.

"Here we go... again..." The crowd erupts with applause as I make my way up to the stage but none of it masks Lily's quiet sobs. At the back I can see Nano's set in an odd expression. Some sort of pain, I don't know. My brains to blurred to make sense of all of this right now.

It takes until I shake hands with Amaya Nil to realise she's blind (she has trouble finding my hand). I can't say it changes my feelings towards her. She signed up for this. She knows what she's in for blind or not. I know I should feel sorry but, in the end, there's only one thing that matters to me about her. One thing that gives me solace in this whole ugly affair.

She's not Lily.

* * *

><p><em>Anastasie Dallas, age 16, Capitol Center Square<em>

It's Reaping time again and, like every year, the streets are crammed with idiots and losers all hoping that their name will be called out by a tribute so that they can watch the Games 'First hand'. In the street below my balcony I can see swathes of people rushing this way and that, gormless expressions on their faces as they decide whether they want to stand near the Games Makers, The President, Claudius Templesmith or me. The clamor of fans craving autographs is almost deafening but, fortunately, I'm used to it.

After all I am a minor celebrity of sorts. My father's a Games Maker, see, and, as his only daughter and youngest child, I've always been given exactly what I want. Back when I was just a kid I had this sudden idea that I'd love to be and actress and, a few tears and broken vases later, he hired an acting couch for me and, three years later, I was a big shot child actor starring alongside such names as Minty Freeman, Rocky Mason and Vox Perseverus. Everything I've ever wanted my dad has given me and it's because of him that, today, I'm sitting up here on a high balcony, looking out across the square at that wonderful man who all of Panem knows as Caesar Flickerman. This year he seems to have gone for pink and green stripes, and I have to say the two colours thing really suits him. Maybe that's just because I went for pink streaks in my hair as well, rather than dying it completely. I've never really liked the idea of all these stupid skin dyes and tattoos, so I got dad's stylists to give me a more natural look. The only alterations I've had to me are a few pink streaks in my hair and various operations that I'd rather not go into right now.

My mother and brothers, on the other hand, look like aliens from the planet Freak. Decimus is completely covered in tattoos, Logan's face looks like it will be ripped off if he adds any more tattoos and my mom, the 'sane one' as she so self importantly calls herself, has her hair dyed green and her skin a bright red, her pupils enlarged like massive saucers so that she looks like one of the aliens in those ancient movies.

Out on the stage opposite us, the Games Makers have finally come to their decision about whether or not the Avox who won as a joke will be allowed to enter. It seems they've decided he will. It's no skin off my back really, we all know whose name is going to be picked next. Mine. I have over one hundred Capitol tesserae for God's sake, it's kind of boring when it's this obvious I'm going to get chosen.

Both my brothers are too old to be 'Reaped', not that they'd want to be anyway. Logan says he's far to into that stupid job sewing back together dead bodies to be returned to their families, and Decimus is apparently too enthralled in his science course at college to care. Or so mom says. I can tell she's just using those two as an excuse not to give me the same attention dad's giving.

"Anastasie Dallas?" The District Five sap reads out over the TV and, down in the streets, the crowds begin to mutter and scream. I give my best surprised face and blow a few kisses to my adoring, and pretty repulsive, fans before pushing my way past both my disinterested brothers and allowing myself to be escorted into the halls of the Panem, central state building. I am quickly led into a tastefully decorated room with lavish curtains, golden details and one of those fancy roof paintings where all the people in it forgot their clothing. I walk through crowds of congratulating dignitaries and take my seat next to a golden skinned girl with a silly smile on her face and a timid looking boy who looks a bit like a zebra and keeps staring at 'T', a black Games Maker with a lion's mane hairdo and all too shiny teeth. From what it looks like the grey skinned girl who made that big speech about how great Claudius was hasn't arrived yet. A shame really, because she's the girl I've seen so far who I feel the most connection with. Her family sucks, just like mine, but, somehow, she manages to pretend she likes them and that they're all one big happy family. I respect that acting ability, being a thespian myself.

It takes me less than an instant to spot some of the figures I've been more eager to see rushing towards me in the crowd and, as soon as my photo's been taken for the Games pamphlets, I rush over to the two girls and boy who are waving to me.

They're a select group my friends, made out of the only people my age I can imagine myself hanging out with. They're basically the family I would have picked if the universe had given me a choice.

"You got in!" Artemis Zangler, a blue haired, heavily pierced friend of mine, squeaks as I walk up to her, grabbing me by the shoulders and shaking me back and fourth. "How come you got in and I didn't, I had, like, a bazillion slips in there!" I smile at Artemis, she's a sweet kid but, being the adopted daughter of Vice-President Flavius Thorn really hasn't helped her cope with defeat. Or at least, I assume she's adopted, since Flavius Thorn seems to be asexual, he never shows any affection to anyone, not even Arty really. Then again, I suppose that's a good thing, the one thing that would make our Vice-President scarier would be if he had genuine emotions.

"I guess I'm just, like, luckier than you or something," I smile casually before turning to my other two friends Claudia Floe, the checker tattooed daughter of a famous comedian and Rocky Mason, a fellow child star who I met while acting in 'Odds In My Favor: The Claudius Templesmith Story: The Movie' (He played young Claudius and I played some childhood friend), "What about you two then? Jealous?"

"Not really," Claudia groans, in that normal annoyingly monotone voice of hers that her comedic father is known for, "Me and Dad are going down there anyway, some sort of pre-Games party he says, so we might be seeing you anyway."

"She's jealous." Arty whispers to me, and the two of us giggle. "How about you Rocky?"

"Oh, I'm jealous," Rocky says with a slight smile, "Who wouldn't be? Getting the opportunity to rub shoulders with a bunch of District children is so much better than being here, rubbing shoulders with greats like Claudius Templesmith, Caesar Flickerman and Scorpious Book." He doesn't say it in a sarcastic manner but, once his words register with me I can't help but grind my teeth together a little. I like Rocky, he's a nice guy but sometimes he really gets on my nerves. Ah well, at least he's better than my brothers.

"So, better put those plans of yours on hold for a week!" I say, "'Cos I'll be off enjoying myself!"

"Yes," Claudia mutters, her voice as flat as ever, but her eyes twinkling mischievously, "Everyone hold their plans off, Annie is tanning in scenic Tributes Tower!" Rocky and Arty ground their teeth and, once again, I clench my teeth together until I think they might snap.

"Yeah... well... well..." I mumble, searching for a suitable comeback to Claudia's biting humour but, for the moment, nothing comes to me. I bight my lip as the other three grin to one another, having finally managed to outwit my... err, wit! Rocky's prosthetic purple eyes and black hair pressed close to my own face. I feel myself sweating slightly as I search for a reply. It's not easy with Rocky's face pressed up towards me like this, putting me off my train of thought. Behind him I can still see Arty, her face pulled into a ridiculous grin and Claudia, a small smile tweaking at her lips. I grimace, pushing him away. I need to clear my head, and I'm never going to do that with Rocky grinning like a gormless idiot into my eyes. I probably would have pushed him away sooner if he weren't so handsome. Theatrically speaking that is. I mean, most actors are handsome, so its not like I'm not used to it. I just get, flustered sometimes, is all. My head clears and I smile as a retort to Rocky and Claudia's previous wisecracks comes to me. In front of me, I can see the other three mentally preparing themselves for my genius reply. Before I can say anything, however, a bony hand rests upon my shoulder and, looking down, I spot oil black skin, almost like it has been severely burned, covered in a criss cross pattern of bramble tattoos. Looking around I shiver as my eyes come face to face with the dark eyes of Flavius Thorn. He smiles at me, his wide, stretched smile more like a long cut than a human mouth as he reaches a jewelery heavy arm out towards Artemis and grips her tightly by the shoulder. His face twists slightly, as though trying to become more human, but it actually loses what little humanity it has left.

"Artemis, dear," he mutters, as though each word is painful to him, "Let's leave Miss Contest Winner alone shall we, I'm sure she wants to revel in her victory." He grins, his hand crawling off of her shoulder and gripping the back of her shirt, steering her towards a crowd of Senators and Games Makers and away from me. He bends down and, as the other two grin at me apologetically and back away, leaving me alone with Thorn. His smile peels open a bit more and what he says next has the ability to shake me to the core.

"If I were you I'd have said goodbye back then," he sneers, his voice as silky and venomous as... a very poisonous type of leaf, "The Reaper can come at any moment, that's what the Games are supposed to teach us, I think. Don't believe that, just because you're a Capitol kid, your immune from death because it can strike at any moment. He turns away, his cold hand ruffling my hair as he walks away, leaving me totally alone in a crowded room. Alienated from all others.

"Do have fun, Annie."

* * *

><p>AN: Question of the Day: Who, if anyone, do you see as the three biggest dangers to your tribute in this Game?


	7. D6: My Revolution

A/N: Okay guys, we're now about half way through the Reapings, so don't worry, it's almost over! Thank you all for your answers to my last question, I hope you like District Six as much as you guys liked the last lot and please Review, I want to know what you guys think!

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><p>J C Kali, JF xSerioki and HelloPoppet123 (whose tribute may be slightly difficult to understand) are the creators of this chapter's wonderful tributes. They're all very interesting and different characters, so I hope you like reading about them. The tributes are very nice too!<p>

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><p><strong>The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**District Six**

_Aleron Baves, age 17_

I'm the first to admit that I'm not exactly happy about my current situation.

Sure, it's true that everyone who lives in the Districts is gonna feel like they've been screwed over by the Capitol but their just being whiny jackasses. For me, it's totally justified. Not only am I living in the Districts right now, but I'm standing in th middle of some stinking alley swapping prescription drugs for money all because people haven't been dying as fast as they should and my folks need the money. And just to top off this sickeningly sweet cake of forced labour the Capitol forced on me, it's raining! Bloody raining! I totally blame the Capitol for that too!

In front of us the balding man in the battered lab coat grins, gripping the small vials in his fingerless gloves and throwing a bag full of coins to one of my pals.

"Everything seems to be in order." The man hisses, having insane difficulty speaking due to the sheer amount of teeth that fill his mouth, "Thank ya boys! Say hi to ya parents for me." The man's grin widens and he skulks into the shadows, pulling on a cheap bobble hat to protect him from the rain as he slips into a dirty building at the end of the alleyway.

"Freak." My friend, the egotistically named 'I', mutters as he counts the money, "I'll bet he hasn't even given us a proper amount, just fer a joke." Next to him Grudge and Bets nod in agreement. Our customers rarely ever give us something that divides by seven and after all the work we go to to get them these drugs in the first place. It's not easy to smuggle drugs out of one of the largest hospitals in District Six, especially seeing as Bets and Savage work there, and if anyone found out we were doing it, life would be even more crap for me than it already is.

As the seven of us, Grudge, Bets, Savage, Noel, True Brit, 'I' and... I, step out onto the street, we're immediately swept up in a tide of people in lab coats and rubber gloves heading towards the center square, where the Reapings are always held.

"'Doc Snails Cut Price Medical Services!" 'I' laughs as we storm into the crowd, recalling the name of our previous customers shop, "What's the bet he ain't even a proper Doctor?"

"Hey man!" Savage protests, his dark eyes flashing violently, "That's the man who gave my sister a foot op last year!"

"Yeah, and how many toes she got left?" Bets, the only girl of our gang snickers as she shoves some kid out the way and steps over him. To be really honest, the kid was asking for it, he should've known from the matching black lightening bolts on our sleeves that we're part of District Six's seamy underbelly. The stuff that the Capitol doesn't like to show when they talk about District Six.

"Thirty Seven quid." 'I' snarls, as he finishes counting, "Five quid Twenty Eight an' a half each. Bloody Snails!" The seven of us mutter curses as 'I' passes round the money and Grudge and Savage nod, ducking into the crowd as they look for their families.

The really great thing about being in a gang is you always know where you stand, which you don't when you're at home. There I'm just a son, the oldest of the three, and that means that my big sis gets all the attention, and I'm just some punk. Here, we have a structure, like a little society. Noel is the boss, 'I' is the numbers guy, Bets is the girl and the angry one, Grudge is the big guy, Savage is the diversion and True Brit is the kid. Me? I'm the stereotype black guy, which I have to say I'm not that pleased about. I'm also 'I' and Noel's personal bodyguard, which is a bit more flattering.

We're bringing this District down for fun and profit and it's a real blast! In fact, I can't think of anywhere else I'd rather be right now than here, with these guys.

"Aleron!" I wince as a somber faced man who I call my father shouts my name and, flanked by 'I' and Bets, head over to my him a wide smile etched on my face.

"Wipe away that grin Aleron." my mother snarls as I slouch up to her, "Don't you know that today's no time for smiling." I don't get it, my parents are like this every year. I know that it's a horrible thing to celebrate about but hell, my folks own a mortuary, they should be used to death! All this dressing my little brothers in black suits as well, it'll scar them for life. Well more than working with dead people and having a 'massive disappointment' of a brother who sent some guy to the infirmary in summer last year. "And what are you doing here Issac? Bethany?" My mother squawks. Damn, I'd forgot those to idiots were here.

"Goin' to the Reapin's Miss." 'I' grins, his voice taking on a very patronising tone. My mother sneers, but relents and steps to the side, letting the three of us pass. I wink at my brothers as we pass and, before I know it, me and 'I'have been herded into one of those stupid pens, opposite my brother Gavin, in the twelve pen, and just right of my other brother, Del, who is being shoved into the fourteen's section.

"I still can't believe that bloody Snails gave us Thirty Seven!" 'I' grumbles, still furious at Snails cheapness, "I mean, we gave him forty satchels. That should be an even forty at least!"

"You sure?" I grin and 'I' looks at me, his face full of confusion.

"Yeah, even forty. You tellin' me 'e was right to swindle us?"

"Nah," I smile, running my hands through my curly black hair and unclipping three small tomato ketchup packs that we use to carry our wares in from my hair. "I'm saying that he didn't get forty satchels." 'I's mouth falls open and I grin widely, clipping the bags, which I know for a fact contain some kind of steroids, back into my hair just as a Peacekeeper passes. There's a lot of hair to clip it into, so I know for a fact that the man can't see them.

"How the hell did you manage to get that past the Peacekeepers" 'I' roars, and I lock eyes with him, my face setting into a stern frown that my father constantly wears.

"Peacekeepers aren't on my level." I snarl and 'I' laughs as behind us, the band begins to play. God I'm epic.

It's a short wait while our mayor reads the Treaty of Treason, reiterating how 'evil' we are and how bed-wettingly perfect the Capitol is. It doesn't improve nothing when some green haired woman with bubblegum colored skin that's so taught on her face it looks like it's made of ironed plastic. She doesn't seem to care that everybody down here is glaring at her, she's not supposed to be liked by us. She's supposed to be liked by the Capitol. The Capitol may like her, but I don't so I take the liberty of not listening to a word she says.

"Piper Albino!" She chirps, her sing song voice just as fake as her hair colour. I grip my knife more tightly as the girl is dragged to the stage by a Peacekeeper. For a moment I am amazed by how easy it was to smuggle a knife through the Peacekeepers, but it probably has something to do with the fact my parents work with cutting up dead bodies, so it's not too surprising that I'd have a knife. The girl breaks away from the Peacekeeper, turning and trying to escape, but the burly man grips her by the waist, dragging her to the stage while a young boy, probably a brother or something, tearfully protests.

I can feel for the girl, dragged away from her friends and family. I'd probably be the first to admit that I'm not exactly the closest to my family, but I'd still rather not be dragged into a fight for the death, no matter how many people can survive. It's even worse now they've removed the 'only one winner' rule, it just proves that they're planning something so big, that they don't think anyone is going to survive if they don't. And now I'm standing here, waiting for some poor sap to be called by that devil-woman on stage and dragged up by Peacekeepers,

"Aleron Baves!" My hand twitches and the knife clatters to the floor. 'I' looks at me, his face stiff but his eyes filled with sorrow, and steps out the way to let me pass. I turn to him as I pass, my hands still hidden behind my back, my entire body twitching as though electric shocks are being forced through my body. I wink at him and my lips curl back, wrenching their way into a giant grin. 'I' smiles and backs away from me and, as I reach the stage, both Piper and our Escort back away, disgusted expressions on their face. A low gurgle forces its way out of my mouth as cameras spin around me, followed by an odd sort of low, dry sound.

Laughter.

I'm laughing? Why? Because I'm happy I guess. Should I be? Probably not, but I can't help it.

You see, years back, some victor called Kat or something realised what I realised, that the Capitol's screwing us up. She didn't take it and led a revolution. Sure she only lived for ten years after that because some creep called Coin backstabbed her, but it seems to me that fifteen years without the Capitol was well worth Ms Everdeen's horrible death.

She kicked Capitol ass, well, it's my turn now. 'Cos I've had it screwing over my own District for fun. They already have it pretty crap anyway. Seems like about the right time to screw up the Capitol a bit.

* * *

><p><em>Sculptor Fitch, age 17, a Capitol villa<em>

"Will someone turn that TV off!" I roar, my fingers lifting from the piano keys as I stand, thrusting my index finger accusingly at the floor, as the sound of blathering voices drifts up. My father's obviously watching the Reapings, and it's getting pretty distracting.

"But Sculpty," my mother soothes, waddling over to me and taking me by the shoulder, "It's barely noticeable! I'm sure you can just practice over it, dear! Let your father have his fun." I grit my teeth, knocking her hand away and glaring into her artificially huge green eyes. I'd expect her not to understand, even though I can hear every word the television is saying. Despite my attempt to block out the Television with my soothing scales, my ears have already been force fed several unwanted tidbits of Hunger Games information. I already know, for example, that a man by the name of Zard Frezal, a shallow and ignorant man by the sound of things, will be mentoring District One this year, which I don't really care about.

"I wish, just for once, that I could play a simple symphony in this house without someone yelling or screaming or making a fuss about how wonderful I sound while I'm trying to concentrate!" I admit that is a low shot, but my mother can become rather annoying when I am trying to practice. She always tries to act like some expert, ranting and raving about how amazing I am while I am trying to perfect an annoyingly tricky part of a waltz. It is impossiblt to hear your my own music over her, how am I supposed to know how it will sound when I play it?

Unfortunately, my mother is completely unfazed by my complaints, shaking her violet hair and fixing me with a grin only slightly smaller than normal.

"Now, Sculpty, no girl is ever going to love you if you act so high and mighty!" she twitters and I can't help snorting at the ridiculousness of that statement. That view hasn't been true for a long time, not since my mother first signed me a record deal when I was five and then secretly recorded me while I was playing. Ever since that day I've been swarmed by older women everywhere I go, calling me things like 'cute' and 'darling'. It's actually the major reason that I rarely leave the house, other than the fact that I'm too busy practicing. I even had to pull out of school at nine to escape the legions of women who seem to like my music.

"I don't care." I say simply, pushing away that particular memory with a shiver. My mother sighs, wrapping her arms around me and muttering into my ear as she runs her pudgy fingers through spiked, light turquoise hair.

"Can't you try to act like a normal boy for once, Sculpty?" I glare at her, once again throwing my hands up in the air and breaking her grip from me as I storm out of the room, intent on silencing that TV.

"I have no desire to be normal!" I yell, the words sounding unnatural at this volume, "Normality, as you call it, is a disease! With its petty trends and fleeting fashions! It's pathetic blood sports and selfish notions!" My mother races after me as I storm down the stairs, my eyes dark. I quickly hurry down the steps, flinging open the large wooden doors of the villa and storming out into the garden. In the maze like network of trees and vines that make up our quasi-tropical garden, it is not hard to lose her, and I soon find myself completely alone, in my usual hiding place, a small pond near the fence.

"Morning rich boy! How's it going?" A voice chirps, and I jump slightly, staring through the gates and into the orange eyes of Sijo Tchakat. I have known him for years and, while I somewhat resent being called rich boy, I admit that it's warranted. My family is quite a bit richer than even your average Capitol family, living on the steady income of TV show host, a fashion designer and myself, we rake in quite a lot more money than his family does and so I often only see him through the metal bars of the fence.

"It is 'going' not very well actually." I say, a smile twitching at the corners of my mouth. "My father insists that we have the Games on in my house." Sijo rolls his eyes and gives me a mournful smile.

"Way to loud, I take it?" I nod and the other boy chuckles softly, causing me to raise an eyebrow at him. "What? I can read you like a book, Fitch! My dad's done the exact same thing at our house." He waits a couple of minutes, his smile drooping slightly, before continuing. "Some kid called Jhoker Silo just got chosen for District Four's guest."

"I thought you did not watch the Games." I say and Sijo gives a grimace, running his hand through his tangles of greasy black hair.

"Yeah, I know," he mutters, seemingly ashamed at himself, I can't really see why, it seems reasonable to watch the Reapings, just as long as they're not too loud, "But this was really interesting. Apparantly the guy they chose is an Avox, some kid from District Four whose name got slipped into the ball."

"That seems... unlikely." I growl, sensing foul play at work.

"I know, right?" Sijo mumbles to himself, "But why would anyone rig it for an Avox, unless... they wanted to put they're kid in and thought he needed protection." I nod, Sijo getting to the logical conclusion just before me. I'm pretty sure now I know what is going on. Sijo probably knows too, he knows that my father has been ranting about sending me there, as a PR stunt, for ages and that he thinks I need extra security. It is rather obvious what has happened, but I have to be sure.

"What Avox number is it?"

"19.1917." Sijo replies, somehow remembering the number off the top of his head. Sijo has a rather amazing memory, and I've kind of learnt to just go with it. "It's one of yours isn't it?" I nod and, thanking Sijo, I get up and race back into our villa.

"Father!" I yell, barging through the network of rooms until I find him, laid back on a long, sickeningly green sofa, flanked by a pair of Avoxes.

"Ah, there you are, Sculptor!" My father grins as I storm into the room, clearly enjoying the huge face of Claudius Templesmith gazing down at him from the television. Either that or he's enjoying being shirtless but, to be honest, he's shirtless so often that he really can't really be that pleased about it.

"Father!" I growl, my face screwing up into a snarl as I glare down at him, "What is this I hear about an Avox being chosen." The man grins widely, rocking up into a sitting position and reaching over to a rather disheveled Avox who bows and passes a teacup into his enormous hands.

"It's simply a precaution, my dear boy. We don't want you getting mobbed like last time do we?" I shake my head, my usual calm demeanor cracking slightly as it grates against my father's huge bravado.

"But that's against the rules!" I growl, grinding my teeth together, "I knew this city was rotten, but I never considered my own father to be so depraved!"

"Depraved?" The man chuckles, swinging his great, trunk like arms out and wrapping them around the necks of the two Avoxes who flank him, pulling them down onto the couch next to him, "Why I'm a harmless little kitten." He grins, his purple skin rippling with muscle.

"Your a monster." I snarl.

"For what?" he retorts, his blond eyebrows raising in surprise, "Allowing a poor District boy who was thrust into a life of slavery to have a second chance? An existence free of my so called tyranny. Even the chance to go home to his family, just for a few days protecting you." I snort, his pity tactics aren't going to trick me so easily.

"I want no part in these monstrous Games," I mutter, "They're simple barbarism."

"Fine." my father replies, slightly to quickly, and leaping to his feet, dragging both Avoxes to theirs. "I wouldn't want to force you." I say nothing, I can tell he's not finished and whatever he's going to say next may well be crucial, "But your name will be chosen and, if you don't feel like going, I'm afraid that a lot of people will feel very cheated. They only chose one name you know?" I shrug, the fewer idiots celebrating this blood bath the better. My father grins, slouching over to me as he throws both Avoxes, a tall blond and a Hawaiian who I recognise as Avox 19, the boy coming with me, back on to the sofa. My father smiles, gripping my chin and staring into my eyes with his own pupilless eyes. "You've always wanted to fight the Games, haven't you Sculptor? Well, if you go on this little, bitty all expenses paid trip, I promise your mother and I will fund your stupid Anti-Consumerism, Anti-Hunger Games, Anti-Fun campaign for the remainder of this year and the next."

"I'd be a hypocrite," I point out, although the promise of funding does peak my interest. Despite my furious hatred of the Games, I am a pragmatist, and I am willing to suffer a little to permanently end the menace of the Games. "Going to a Games and then ranting about how much I hate them."

"You could play the old 'experienced the evils of the Games' card," my father grins, "If anything it would make your campaign even stronger. Now, go get changed." I spin on my heel, marching out of the room as I prepare to step out of the building for something other than a concert for the first time in eight years. Looking behind me, I notice the Hawaiian boy, Avox 19, trotting at my heels, obviously on the orders of my father.

"My father underestimates me," I tell him, "He doesn't believe I am capable of taking down the Hunger Game, but believe me, I will bring these Games down, and I shall do it from the inside, regardless of my father." The Avox nods, scribbling something down on a piece of paper and showing it to me.

_'Your dad's an asshole'_ it reads. I should be mad, but at the moment I am inclined to agree with him. Yes, my father is a monster, and I am ready to tear apart what he loves to create a better Panem. I am ready to tear apart the Hunger Games!

* * *

><p><em>Piper Albino, age 18<em>

It's nice to get a little peace once in a while. Just one time in my life to forget the name calling, the constant teasing, the lack of food. Maybe, if I try hard enough, I can even finally forget about him. Forget all that stuff that happened and move on. I smile sadly and stretch my feet out in my bed, listening to the sound of my father's snores, the soft creak as my little sister rolls over in bed in the next room, the sound of Vincent, the baby of the family, babbling to himself as he gently snoozes on the other side of the room. It's nice, just lying here, listening. It's just a shame that the only time I get peace is Reaping day.

I wearily open my eyes, getting to my feet and walking over to the small oak better where Vincent lies, fast asleep. I pass by, not wanting to wake the little two year old up as I head to the bathroom and quickly wash and dress. I'd love to be below Reaping age like Vincent, to be able to go through the day without this horrible knot of fear and resentment tied up in my stomach. I know it wouldn't help, I'd still feel bad for whoever's head was on the chopping block. Plus, feeling jealous of Vincent just because he's a kid makes me sick to my stomach. I mean, if I were Vincent's age I'd have this happening to me anyway sooner or later, and I've only got a year left. And to make matters even worse, it always makes me think of little Vincent being Reaped and forced to fight to the death, which just makes me feel even more worried and disgusted at myself. I groan again, checking myself in the mirror before I head to the kitchen. I don't exactly look good this morning, with my blond hair tangled and messy from last night and my eyes ringed with worry of what today will bring. The look isn't exactly improved by the scar running along my stomach from the operation. I don't think I'll be wearing a crop top today, that's for sure.

After throwing on jeans and a jumper I quickly race downstairs and I'm halfway through a hastily prepared serving of mashed potato, which had started out as a waffle, when my sister, Sonia, finally makes it downstairs.

"Wow. You look dreadful!" she exclaims, and I snort into my meal.

"Yeah, thanks for the support." I sneer, gulping down another few spoonfuls of mashed waffle as Sonia takes her place at the table.

"Nervous?" Sonia asks, a slight smile creeping onto her pale face as she tries to make small talk.

"A bit, yeah." I shrug, who wouldn't be, "You?"

"Of course, who wouldn't be?" Sonia says, pulling a face. It's her second year as a tribute and I think she's finally got the idea that it's not going to get any better.

"So, when are you going to tell him?" Sonia asks, so suddenly that I actually feel myself jolt up from my meal, alert.

"Tell dad what?" I ask, "That I'm nervous, I'm pretty sure he already knows, I've been doing this for six years, you know?" Sonia grimaces, facepalming at my answer.

"Not Dad!" she practically screams the words, exasperated, "Vince! When are you going to tell Vince!" I look at her and my eyes slowly drift to the tattoo on my wrist, a small white rose with the initials 'VA' written on them. I've got the horrible feeling that I know where this is going.

"What would I want to tell Vincent about?" I ask, and Sonia rolls her eyes, making a clicking noise with her tongue, an annoying habit that she always does when she's annoyed.

"You know what I'm talking about! Tell him about... him..." I stand, pushing my food to the side and turning away from her.

"I'm not telling him." I mutter as I push the door open, making it clear that I want no further part in this conversation, "Vincent's not ready to here about him yet." I close the door, heading out of the house. Sonia gets up, hurrying after me as I leave, her blond hair floating around her head like a halo, making her look even more like the benevolent angel she tries so hard to be. She's not going to give up that easily, but I still have an ace up my sleeve. Change the subject. I look around, trying to find something distracting. Fortunately I don't have to look far, there's something very distracting literally covering our house.

"Oh, now that's real nice!" I snarl, looking up at the house. Those dumb kids must have come by again the night before, because the house has been tastefully decorated with various derogatory words beginning with 'w' and 's'. A 'Reapings Day' banner has been hung over the roof, the 'e' carefully crossed out. Real classy.

"Ah man, not again!" My sister groans, completely forgetting our squabble as the pair of us set about repairing the house. Time seems to speed by as the two of us scrub, wash and occasionally chat the house clean, until my parents finally finish getting Vincent dressed and come out, my mother holding Vincent by the hand. She passes him over to me, and I lead the boy down the hill on which our house stands and out into the streets. He's only two so he doesn't quite understand it all yet, and it's pretty heartbreaking to see how he reacts to it all, like it's just some big game! We draw a few stares as we walk, which I suppose I should have expected. The people who know us know what happened to the Albino family and they either don't like to talk about it, or go out of their way to make us, especially me, feel bad about it. The families who don't know us just see a family of pale blonds with green eyes leading a tanned boy with a roman nose and curly black hair. They all think there's no way two blond parents can have a kid who looks like that, especially considering how me and Sonia look. Dad, with his thin flax hair, pale, freckled skin and thin glasses looks absolutely nothing like Vincent, which I suppose is fitting, seeing how he's not Vincent's father.

My dad looks around distastefully as we enter the square, his blue eyes landing on every unsavory looking Peacekeeper he can see.

"Piper." my dad mutters, his voice harsh and biting, "I want you to keep Vincent away from those men."

"But..." I begin, trying to tell him that I still have to go to the Reapings. A few more months and I'll be free of them forever, but right now I still need to stand in line.

"I don't want to here it young lady." dad growls, grinding his straight teeth together, "That boy is your responsibility. You're not a little girl anymore so when I tell you to look after Vincent, I want you to look after him." I nod, taking Vincent's hand and leading him to the edge of the pens, where he will one day be herded up with hundreds of other children and force fed into tiny pens. For once I'm glad that Vincent isn't paying attention to the whats in front of him because if he were he'd notice that the nineteen year old lout of a Peacekeeper is leering at him and occasionally staring at my chest. Fortunately, Vincent is looking at a man with a savage scar running down his face from his mouth up to his ear. An idiot of a gang member who picked a fight with some kid with a knife and got his face carved up. I should know, dad spent a week raving about it when the guy was bought in to the infirmary dad runs.

"I'm sorry Miss Albino." The Peacekeeper drawls as the three of us step up to be sorted, "No small children beyond this point." I roll my eyes, looking around for my parents, but both of them have disappeared into the crowd. Even if I could find them, I've already passed through three checks, it's not like I'd be able to make my way back here in time for the Reapings and then I'd be whipped for not complying. This guy probably knows that, he's trying to get me punished, probably thinks it's some kind of karmic punishment for Vince being born in our family.

"What should I do with him then?" I ask, irritated, "Leave him in the gutter."

"Why don't you just leave him with daddy?" The man snarls, apparently to thick to notice how dangerous what he just said was, "I'm sure he'd come back from the afterlife for some little basta..." It is that moment that the Peacekeeper is gripped by the greasy hair and dragged backwards, before being slammed into the dirt. I look up, immediately recognizing the black haired twenty year old woman who stands over me. Olivia Gaives, a girl who has absolutely nothing in common with me, other than a penchant for violence, yet fate managed to draw us together. Her little brother and I used to be sort of an item, but that's ended years ago. And people ask me why I hate these Games!

The man on the ground tries to stand and I'm more than a little proud when Sonia kicks the teen in between the legs, toppling him over onto the ground again. We quickly scurry away to our sections, me leading Vincent with me, and I listen with glee as the Peacekeeper is berated by his superior for 'harassing civilians'. The other girls my age back away from me as I join them, giving each other worried looks and occasionally glancing questioningly at Vincent. It goes on like this for the whole of the Treaty of Treason, the nervous glances and the whispers, until the mayor finishes and our brightly coloured escort, a young woman by the name of Rona, takes the stage.

"Good morning District Six!" Oh god. I can just tell I'm going to hate this girl. She's just so creepy. "Let's get this show on the road and find out who our lucky girl's going to be." I scrunch up my eyes, thinking that, somehow, if I can't see it it will make everything better. I hate hearing who's going to be in the Games. I just pray it's not someone I know. I don't think I'd be able to take that happening again. "Piper Albino!"

On second thoughts I should have tried to find mom and dad. Then I could have missed it, another girl could have been chosen. My fingers tighten around Vincent's shoulder as the girls part in front of me and a tall Peacekeeper marches through the crowds towards me. Vincent looks up at me questioningly as the man reaches out to drag him away from me. I lash out, catching the Peacekeeper on the nose. The man growls as I pull Vincent close to my leg and grabs me by the arm and drags me. Vincent stumbles, letting go of my leg, he is instantly swallowed up by the crowd. I shriek, knocking away the Peacekeeper and reaching out for the boy, trying to get back to him, to stop his tears. I feel myself gripped round the waist and dragged to the stage, but I can't think beyond that. My mind is numb with fear and sorrow.

I'm never going to be able to tell him. I'll never be able to tell Vincent why he doesn't look like dad. He'll never know his father, Damon. He'll never know the man who threw his life away in the Hunger Games, just like I'm about to. Who was mercilessly butchered by a Career at the final eight.

And he'll never know about me. About the dark secret, known by everyone but himself, that I hide about why I've got this scar on my stomach.

And, most importantly, he'll never know that I'm not his sister.

I'm his mother.

I reach out to him as I am forced onto the stage, falling to my knees as tears run down my face.

Goodbye... Vincent Gaives...

* * *

><p>Question of the Day: If you had the choice of joining the Games, or inflicting it on someone else (even a family member), what would you chose?<p>

Also, we now have a space for the District Eight male open again, as MySoulToReap has retired her character. Please fill the spot!


	8. D7: Dying and Bullet Points

A/N: Once again I find myself apologising for a truly monumental gap in between chapters. My only excuse is that my A Levels are sucking a lot of time out of my day at the moment, to the point where I barely have any time to write at all. Hopefully I can make it up to you with this chapter, and the promise that I will never, ever abandon this story!

* * *

><p>I've chosen Super Papers tribute for our replacement male District Eight, by the way and thanks to everyone who answered the last question, It'll really help me write the characters. Today's tributes belong to Amara Kingley, The Maddie Hatter and BlueSkyKite. I had real fun experimenting with these. Fines, for example, is written in a very brief, concise style, with a lot of repetition. Kind of like I see his thought process. Hope you like it!<p>

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**District Seven**

_Fines Gemane, age 16_

The names Fines. Fines Gemane. I'll let you call me that if you like. I'll let you call me 'dude' or 'man' or 'freak' if you like. Whatever you like. Just don't call me Mr Gemane. Or 'Mini Rinkk'. That's my fathers name.

It should be obvious I don't want to be known as my fathers son. We aren't alike. Not at all. We argue. He says I need more friends. Says I'm dull. Says I'm moody. Says I'm boring. Says I should be more like my little brother. Says Rawlin's a good boy. Says a lot of things really. He can be nice, but he's stubborn. A lot like me really. Spends a lot of time in the woods. Carry's trees for a living.

Like I said, a lot like me. I stop for a second. Rest against one of the trees for a while. Put the massive log on my back down next to me. Need a rest. I chew a piece of corn for a while. Let the big, wide brimmed straw hat I wear fall over my eyes. Drift off to sleep for a while...

Next thing I know someone's tapping me on the shoulder. I lean back. Open my eyes. Look up at the three figures standing above me. Sandy blond one, Kellan, freckly face and a mischevous grin. Next one, Ruese, has black hair, dark skin and a rather sad expression. Last one's ginger, like me. Looks a bit like me in every aspect, but frecklier. Rawlin, my little brother. All of them are tall. All of them are shorter than me.

"What?" I glare at them. Could say more if I wanted to. Don't. Too many words.

"You were asleep." One of them says. Can't tell which. Sun's too bright to see and they all sound similar. I guess it's Ruese, he normally starts speaking first.

"So?"

"You were asleep under a tree with Peacekeepers looking everywhere!" That's Kellan. He's louder than the others.

"Yes."

"On Reaping day!" Rawlin. He sounds like me. His voice is deep and slightly bitter.

"Ah." I pull myself to my feet. Swing the branch onto my back, frown, nod curtly. Set off at a slow walk with the others ahead of me.

The roads are pretty much deserted now. Few small families drift down. Small children, old people, an odd Victor. The people who aren't in danger. I glare at them as I pass. Make them feel uncomfortable. Why? Because they're not in danger.

I'm in danger. My name gets picked out, and I might as well be dead. These people don't care. They've just come out because they have to. They don't want to be out here. Guess what? Neither do I.

The sullen mood doesn't suit the others. Rawlin punches me for glaring at an old man. It hurts. I punch him back. That hurts more.

Brief pause. Exchange glares. He apologises. I apologise. Frown, nod curtly. No one says any more on the matter. No one says anyway. Kellan looks like he wants to. He doesn't though. Good. If he says anything we'll just ignore him. Words would be pointless, especially today.

I attract a few glares from Peacekeepers as I make my way up to one. Expected. They have been looking for me for the past few hours. Push past a girl on the way to a stage. Short. Tied back brown hair. Blue eyes. Doesn't look like much. Swears at me as I cut across her. Makes several lewd comments about me. Kicks can at Kellan. Hits Rease. Gets punched. She doesn't react. Makes a few more dirty jokes about us.

Tough girl. She'd do well in the arena.

I'd do well in the Arena. Probably won't get picked this year. Best to prepare.

"Wandering in the woods?" My father asks as I pass him. Brief pause. Frown, nod curtly. A smile crosses his face, then is gone. "Good luck." He nods. I nod. He passes by. We don't speak again. Probably won't till I get back home.

Rinkk Gemane. My father. He's a lot like me.

Find my space in the crowd. No one looks my way. No one knows me well enough. Squeeze in among terrified kids and sweating teens. Some bigger than me. Feel butterflies in stomach. Fear. You never get used to it.

Music plays. Capitol ditty. It's nice. Would hum it if it weren't for the implications of the tune. Mayor makes a speech. He doesn't seem happy. Has his reasons. Three kids. Recently divorced. Very demanding job. Speech is long and repetetive. Uses too many words. Get bored. Stare at shoes till she finishes. Other man takes stage. Hamlet Viridis. Escort. Red hair. Green eyes. Green suit. Speaks slowly. Doesn't say much. I like him.

"Hello." Hamlet says. Brief pause, "District Seven." Brief pause. No one speaks. Hamlet walks over to glass ball. Reaches for name. Everyone holds their breath.

"Johanna Harris." Girl in eighteen's section swears. Pushes a few girls out the way. I raise an eyebrow. It's the girl I saw earlier. Doesn't look tough anymore though. Just looks short. Short and scared. Trying to hold back tears. Or screaming, it's hard to say which. Pity. I thought she'd be braver. Wonder how I'd react if I was picked. Bad to think about it. Tempting fate.

Hamlet reaches for the other glass ball. Holds it in front of him. Squints. Puts on glasses. Squints. Mutters something. Mayor whispers in his ear. Hamlet looks confused. Mayor sighs.

"Fines Gemane." the mayor says. My body seizes up as people step out of my way. Long pause. Get a few apologetic looks. Count to ten. Longer pause. Take a few deep breaths. Brief pause.

Frown, nod curtly.

It surprises me. How calm I am. Thought I'd be scared. Thought I'd get scared like the that Jo girl. Don't care. I don't really know anyone. They don't know me. I don't have anyone to lose.

Get up on stage. Shake hands with girl. Her skins warm, rough. Not ladylike. Hamlet asks me to pick name. Nod, lean forwards.

"Cesspit." I read wrong. Correct myself quickly. Doesn't matter that much. Stupid name. Would laugh if I felt like it.

Don't. Can't think straight. My mind buzzes with words. I become completely disorientated. One thought fills my head. One message. I know what's going to happen. I know everything that's going to happen. Laughter wouldn't feel right at all. Because I know what's going to happen.

Kellan and Rease will probably 'wish me luck' then stand awkwardly for the rest of the goodbye.

Dad will probably tell me he has faith in me. He should. It would be nice to agree on something for a change.

Rawlin will probably apologise for stuff he never did to me.

Mom will probably cry. Shame really. They don't need to be sad. They don't need to mourn me or do anything at all to try and remember me. Because they won't have to try and remember me.

I'm definitely coming home again.

* * *

><p><em>Jo Harris, age 18<em>

This morning I got up, just like every other girl in the entire world. I combed my hair, got dressed and brushed my teeth, just like every other girl in the entire world. I ate breakfast with my little brother and sister, just like every other girl in the entire world. I helped my mom at the bakery for a bit, hung out with guys, swore at some little runt who tried to cut past me in a queue, etcetera etcetera. Point is, I'm nothing special. Just your average eighteen year old girl. Just like every other goddamn girl in the whole goddamn world.

So how come I'm the one sitting in a comfortable armchair in the train station, waiting for my family to come and cry me off to certain death?

"You OK?" The Peacekeeper standing near me asks. She's a tall girl, only a couple years older than me at the most. She doesn't look the slightest bit sympathetic.

"What do you think?" I bark, glaring her down. The stupid girl pouts, not knowing when she's beat and mutters something. "What!" I yell at her and the girl looks up, hitting me with a look so disdainful that I have to believe she's either a Capitol Despot or really, really vain.

"For your information I was simply saying that you should be glad that they're only using one train this year. Gives you more time to say goodbye to your..."

"For your information," I bellow, "I don't give a damn about some bloody train! I'd much rather be at home, you know, where psychos aren't trying to kill me, you retarded bit-" At that point the girl lashes out, catching me with the butt of her gun and knocking me off my chair. I launch myself at her, knocking her to the ground and sending the gun spinning off to the side. She sprawls across the floor as I rip off the helmet that covers her head, her eyes widening in shock as her hair tumbles out of the helmet. Dyed blond. God I hate that hair colour. After I lay a few punches on her, she seems to realise she's being attacked and reaches for her gun. I push it away from her and the girl screeches, beginning to scratch at my face.

I'm not really the most ready for cracking skulls but, I have to say, right now I'm feeling like I might. Unfortunately the stupid girl chooses that exact moment to scream again, at the same time a squad of Peacekeepers, flanking my supposedly dangerous District partner (the runt from earlier's older brother), have chosen to pass the door. Bursting in, they quickly arrange themselves in a wall and flick the safety's off their guns.

"Ms Harris," One of the men, an old guy with a nice moustache, roars, "Stand down!"

"Or what?" I sneer, "You're gonna shoot me? Yeah nice try, I'm pretty sure you'll shoot me anyway so, sure, go ahead! Put me out of my misery, PC Plod!" The man falters, eyes filled with worry as he stares from me to the girl under me. He knows he can't shoot me, then I wouldn't be able to go into the Games. Anyway, if he tries the girl is going to die too. Well what do you know? I think I'm finally getting the hang of this Games thing, and I'm not even in the Arena yet!

"Beat her." The man growls, "Use your guns as clubs."

"Aw shi-" I never finish my curse (seriously, why do people keep interrupting me?) as, as the men advance on me, something catches me from behind and lifts me into the air.

"Stop." My District partner, Fines or something, growls. I look up at him. He's an odd guy, all dark and deadly and dressed in nothing but a pair of baggy shorts, a vest and some sort of wide brimmed straw hat. He's massive and covered in muscles, but the way he speaks makes him seem more sullen and contemplative than the thick as a brick, hormone addled jerk I imagined when I first saw him.

"Why should we stop," The old Peacekeeper asks, "That girl attacked a Peacekeeper on duty, if she were any other girl in the world she'd be dead right now, Capitol, District or otherwise!" Well then, I guess there's one reason to be glad I got Reaped.

"Try to beat her." Fines growls, his eyes dark, "You'll have to take on me too." It doesn't work that well. They've got guns and batons and we haven't so they just beat us up. Still, it's the thought that counts and it's kind of nice to not be the only one getting beaten up. The Peacekeepers beat us for about ten minutes, before escorting a significantly less beaten (no one really wanted to go near him), Fines Gemane to his quarters and leaving me alone for another five minutes. I finally mange to gather myself together and drag myself back onto my chair, just in time for that self absorbed Peacekeeper to push open the doors of my 'cell' and let in Kyle and Luca, my too closest friend. Both are guys, and both of them are the size of trees, which still isn't quite as big that Fines kid.

"Damn." Luca groans as he takes in my bruises, "The hell did this to ya Jo?"

"Peacekeepers." I mutter and Kyle and Luca break out in identicle smirks, "What?"

"Figures." Luca groans, remembering the situation I'm in at the moment, "Never was one for authority, eh Jo." I shrug and he breaks into a high, forced laugh, cutting it off short before continuing. "So, come back alive yeah? Be a real dampener if ya came home in a matchbox." "The funeral would be cheap." I mumble and Luca breaks into that same sad laugh.

"Yeah, but ya wouldn't be much fun after that." He sighs, "Listen Jo. The guy you're up against is, like, huge. Just... just get him when you can and don't expect any favours alright. Those Capitol kids too, the one's who're supposed to be hanging around the Tower this year. They give you any lip, sock them one to the mouth for me OK. Shouldn't take it too well. Bloody soft the lot of them." I nod, forcing a smile onto my face as Luca smiles, tossing me a couple of dollars and heading out, "For drinks." He says as I inspect the money, "I've seen the Games before, they make you pay for them!" I laugh and he marches out, followed by the silent Kyle. It unnerves me, the fact that he's not speaking. Kyle's usually the cockier of the two. The loudmouth joker who's never phased by anything. It just bugs me that he hasn't spoken yet. I catch Kyle by the sleeve as he leaves, turning him to face me, a dark look in my eye.

"Gonna let Luca do all the talking?" I ask, and the boy grimaces, trying to pull away. I tighten my hand around his wrist and he stops struggling. "What's the matter with you, man?" I growl, "Why the silent act." A frown creases his face for a second, his mouth opens and shuts a few times. An odd gurgle comes out.

"G-good luck, Jo." He manages to force out, before turning and following Luca out, leaving me standing there, bewildered.

The rest of my goodbyes go how I'd expect it to. My little sister Vy spends all the time crying into my lap, while Adam, the youngest in our family and the only boy, tries to act brave, but it's obvious he's not. He spends all the time standing in the corner, lip quivering, until I invite him into a hug that he gratefully accepts. My father gives me a set of earrings that he was going to give me for my birthday. They're not exactly my thing, small ruby flower things and far too 'girly' for my liking, but right now there's never been a present I was happier about. Mom doesn't come. It's not that we don't get on. I love my mom, but I don't think she's able to come and 'say goodbye'. My dad leaves first. Wandering out with a final 'sorry' and leaving me sitting there, battered and bruised, holding my little brother and sister close to me.

"Be brave OK." I mutter to them, aware of how cliché the line is and how bitter the words are in my mouth, but forced to say them all the same, "Whatever happens you can't let this get to you. Just... just... just live your life, carry on without me, and I'll see you in a week or two, yeah. It'll be like a holiday." The two nod slowly, their eyes misty, and I force another smile, "Because I'm coming home from this, and then everything will be OK again." I smile down at the two as the Peacekeeper comes to escort them out, and it's not long before I find myself alone again, choking back tears in the darkening room.

"Johanna?" I look up, my eyes dark as I take in the red headed man whose hand comes to rest on my shoulder. The one who sentenced me to this. I shrug him off, spitting on the floor. Before I can react something cold touches my head, and I glare round at the dark metal gun barrel resting on my head. That's it, I've had enough.

"What the hell!" I roar, eyes bulging as I turn and stare at the short Escort who now has a gun clasped in his hands, "The hell does everyone have against me."

"We just wish to talk, Johanna," the man groans, "The gun isn't loaded, merely to get your attention." I punch him and something hard hits me in the back of the head, knocking me to the floor. I glare up at him as, behind me, that Peacekeeper girl from earlier takes great glee in handcuffing my hands behind my back, "If you must insist on us beating you, I am afraid you will not be in the best condition for the Games," The man growls as the Peacekeeper girl rolls off me, "Up." I stand and the man leads me out of the dark room and into an equally dark corridor. Outside a sleek black train stands proudly at the platform, the initials 'HG' in gold lettering on its side and roof. The thing is still being refueled, but Viridis shows no particular concern, grabbing me by the back of my shirt and dragging me down the stairs to a group of figures who line the platform.

There are five of them. Two tributes, black boy who I think got Reaped from District Six, a tallish, grey skinned guy in a fedora and trench coat from One, their Escorts and a man I don't recognise, a tall hook nosed blond swathed in a long black cloak with artificial wings attached to the side. Both the tributes, I note, have their hands cuffed behind their back. So it's not just me then.

"Ah, there you are," The blond man says, his voice taking on a similar tone to a teachers whose class I once arrived late for. Thing is, they were a woman. "Aleron Baves, Altair Blade, I'd like you to meet your latest inmate. A miss Johanna Harris, detained only a few minutes ago." Neither of them greet me and the man smiles a sickly smile, continuing to speak. "Now we're all here allow me to introduce myself. The name is Decimus Quill. I work on behalf of the Games Makers dealing with detainees, but off course you already knew that, I suppose." I wince, I didn't think it were possible but his voice has actually got more whiny and annoying since he started speaking. "The three of you, you see, are all detainees, punishable with death for your crimes. However, since you have all been enrolled in the Games we can't exactly kill you without proper warning. It would be unfair, so we've decided to raise the stakes and give you a fighting chance. If you can make it out of this years Arena alive, let us say, you will be rewarded with clemency for your crimes..."

"Yeah!" The District Six tribute, Aleron, I think, pipes up, "And if we don't we get death right." The escort behind him makes a retching sound and slaps him with her gloved hand, Decimus laughs.

"I wasn't finished, child." He simpers, "You will be offered clemency if you can make it out alone. If, when you make it out, you are with a group or the other two detainees are not dead, you will be shot, dead, and we will all move on with our lives. Understand?" The other two nod, a wide grin spreading over Altair's face as he does so. Decimus looks at me. I sigh, finally giving in and sullenly nodding my head.

If I'm gonna do this, it looks like I'll have to do it on my own.

* * *

><p><em>Cylix Wren, age 17<em>

The flashing lights, the bright, uplifting music, the beautiful costumes! Every single tribute dressed in the finest silk, most expensive designer wear and all preparing to kill one another as soon as the pleasantries are over! The suspense of it all just gets me every time! OK, I admit it, I love the Hunger Games! If it's a crime then shoot me!

And thats why I'm disappointed about the 'Quell' this year! For one, they're letting more than one tribute survive! That's just no fun! Where's the suspense when the tributes can all just work together and get out in a couple of days? I mean, what sort of Quell is that? Quells are supposed to be harder than regular Games, not easier! Besides, it's only the Ninety Fifth Hunger Games! How the hell should that be a Quell? Well, apparently it's to mark the death of Katniss Everdeen, Victor turned Rebel but, personally, I don't buy it. I think it's all just covering up for the fact that the Games Makers forgot the year and thought it was a Quell year. It's certainly understandable, considering who they are. Now give me a go and I'd do it right! Ha, the whole thing would be over in a day if I were in charge!

I curse into the basin as I rub green dye into my hair. Why oh why had I not been born in the Districts? I mean, District girls get everything! They don't have to diet endlessly to stay thin, they get free education, rather than having to fork out money for some preppy academy that Daddy sent me to and they don't have to worry about fashion or clothing or anything! Plus, all of the District guys are buff, especially in the Career Districts and District Seven, so I'd have a fit boyfriend, as oppose to not having one like now (the guys I know are either all ugly nerds or jerks). And, most importantly, if I lived in the Districts Mother never would have left. She wouldn't have been able to! All in all, I'd like to live in District Seven. I'd lie about, reveling in how good looking I was and maybe do a bit of working on some farm or something and then, when I felt ready for it, I'd just go and Volunteer, and then I'd be made for life.

As it is I only get to watch the Games and, while I have fond memories of watching the Games curled up on Daddy's knee when I was little, I still always feel slightly jealous of those kids who get their day in the limelight. They get to strut out on stage and, no matter how likely they are to win, everybody loves them and wants to make a big thing about them. And I'm always the girl in the background. I want to be loved but not like those other kids, who haven't done anything in their life but get famous because their parents are rich or they're conventionally attractive.

I finish dying my hair, lift my head and stare at myself in the mirror. I pluck a hair, holding the acid green strand in between scaled fingers and inspecting it through yellow eyes. After a couple of minutes I turn, leaving the bathroom and practically skipping down the short flight of stairs to the sitting room, where my father is sitting, watching a small (well _relatively_ small) television and laughing merrily.

"Knew it," he mutters, slightly enviously, as the name of the son of the mogul emperor Valto Orchid is called out and the boy steps up on the stage, stopping only to ruffle his sister's hair and wave vigorously. "The rich kids always get picked. Normal kids never get lucky, eh Muffin?" I laugh when he says that. Muffin is Daddy's nickname for me and I still haven't worked out what the nickname 'Muffin' has got to do with Cylix. It's a nice nickname and I always like it when someone uses it but, unfortunately, most people don't. I sit down next to him and he smiles, wrapping his arm around me and pulling me close, before turning back to watch the screen. We always watch the Hunger Games like this. Just the two of us. No friends, no family, no baying crowds, just me and my Dad, curled up on the sofa. It may seem boring, but some of the happiest moments of my life have been here on this sofa, watching a tribute stalk around in the dead of night, with a cup of coco and a cookie clasped in my hands. Somehow it makes it all feel bigger and so much more exciting when you're not standing in a screaming crowd, being shoved around by about a million people.

"So Muffin," Daddy begins as he watches a girl who looks about my age stumble up to the stage, her head shaking in disbelief. "Any ideas of who you're going to sponsor this year?" I knew that question was coming! Daddy and I always sponsor someone and I always get to chose who it is. Daddy used to do it with Grandpa apparently. It was father son bonding or something and, seeing as Daddy doesn't have any sons to watch the Games with, I get to watch it with him!

"Well," I giggle, thinking through the list of tributes who have been Reaped already, "There's this guy from District Two who's kind of hot." My Daddy jumps slightly, turning towards me and fixing me with a nervous grin.

"I don't think I'm that comfortable with sponsoring a tribute just because he has sex appeal." Daddy mutters, before turning back to the screen just as the name of a scarred boy in a rather swish suit is called out.

"Ah come on Daddy!" I whine, "He's a Career so we know we're sponsoring a guy that wants to be there and has a good chance of winning." My father stares at me, a sly smile on his face.

"You've really been thinking about this argument haven't you." He grins, and we both burst out laughing. A couple of minutes later he settles down turns to me with an all too serious expression on his face. "Seriously though," He says, "I'd still much rather sponsor a proper tribute, like that tall fellow from District Seven. Careers bore me." And this is why my Daddy never sponsors a winning tribute. He always has to sponsor the 'quirky' tribute or the one with the interesting hairdo or something. Last year, for example, we sponsored this tubby girl from District Nine. We sent her a small knife. I don't think she ever used it. Of all the times my Daddy has ever sponsored a tribute (for the past forty two years) only three of them have ever won! And only one of them has won while I was alive (a short boy from District Five)! We were ecstatic the last time our tribute stepped, blinking, into the sunlight. We hugged and had a cup of coco and went on a weeks holiday to celebrate. It was a real family victory!

"I'm not sponsoring that guy Daddy. Have you seen him!"

"Well what about this guy?" He asks, pointing at the boy on the screen, the one in the nice suit. He's standing at the Golden Reaping ball, staring straight at the camera and smiling pleasantly. I admit he's handsome, even with that scar carving up his face. Personally I think that just improves his appearance. It makes him look like he stands a chance in these Games. Who knows? I might actually sponsor him this year.

"Hello people of the Capitol." He begins, his voice so clipped and professional that I could swear he were one of the Escorts, and not a tribute. "Normally I wouldn't be doing this, but I'm afraid my... partner is somewhat... indisposed. So, without further delay, I will now chose the name of the lucky girl who will be joining me in the Tributes Tower!" He grins at the screen, dips his hand into the ball and then does the one thing I had never prepared for.

He calls my name.

Daddy stares at me, speechless. His cup of coffee clatters to the ground and he doesn't even notice. For a moment neither of us even dare to breath, as if when we do it will ruin the magic of the moment. Another family victory! For a moment I want to call off the victory and just go on holiday all over again! Sure I would like spend this time of year with Daddy, and I'm going to miss the coco and the sofa but, for the first time in my life, I have a chance to be the center of attention.

What can I say? Sometimes you just have to laugh!

* * *

><p>Question of the Day: Is there a song you associate with your character? What is it?<p>


	9. D8: Friends and family

A/N: Morning all. Just a quick note to let you guys know that todays tributes were donated by chasing a fairytale and Super Paper. For those of you who didn't understand why I asked last week's question, it is simply to help me know your characters better. While it's not vital, it gives me an idea of what they like, which is very important when I'm writing your characters! But, enough of all that, it's time for the next chapter.

**The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games**

**District Eight**

_Feli Hillside, age 12_

The sound of floorboards creaking shakes down from above my head and I gulp, pushing myself close to the ground and shifting back on my belly in the dark. The floorboards scrape against my bare stomach and I wince, lifting off the ground with great difficulty and shuffling back until my feet touch the base of the stairs under which I hide. Reaching for the tiny box in front of me, turning the volume to zero and watching as the image hisses with static. The sound of footsteps grow closer above me, before passing by. They are quickly followed by the sounds of water running and a quick splash as, above me, my sister begins washing her face. Good, for a moment I thought I'd been discovered, cramped up beneath the stairs with the tiny television, images of death and murder spread out before me like meat in a butcher shop window. I suddenly realise that I'm holding my breath, and gasp, shifting back to my original position and staring in wonder at the stripy figure staring back at me with wide eyes from the screen. He's about my age, looks slightly taller than me and is dressed in some stupid spiky suit, with a mohawk and stripes all over his skin. He should be just another Capitol kid, some pompous egotist reveling in our suffering, just like my sister's told me they all are, but there's one thing that we have in common. He's scared. And I pity him.

Sure, we have the horror of being placed in the Games, of fighting for our lives and being cut down by savage Careers, but that kid's got the guilt of it, I can see it in his eyes. We only have to go to the Games ones and we can be ready, we can prepare, but he has to live for the guilt for his whole life and, not that I'm really clever enough to judge, having lived in District Eight for my whole life with no real education, he doesn't look like he can take it.

I'm glad I'm not him.

I tear my eyes from the screen, rubbing them woozily as I look down at the images spread out in front of me. The still forms of victors grinning or glaring from old, black and white photos, mangled corpses lying on the ground, the last light of their eyes long extinguished, vicious mutts snaring out of ruffled pictures. All of these photos, I am afraid to say, belong to me. Part of a personal 'survival collection' I own. They're images of every Victor, every victim and almost every mutt that, after painstaking search, I was able to purchase in secret from a unscrupulous figure who apparently escaped from District Three. I sigh, gathering the pictures together and pushing them into the folder they lie on top of. I'm glad I have this little hiding place under the stairs to look at these, because my parents most certainly wouldn't approve. They would say it was sick, my sister would almost certainly suggest I had some sort of creepy obsession with death, but that's the exact opposite of the truth. I have an obsession with life! I don't want to go to the Games, no one does, but I'm not a kid anymore, I have no illusions that the Reapings will pass me by this year and, for once, it's not something I can run away from! And, when it happens, I'm going to be prepared.

Unlike right now, when I'm totally unprepared for my older sister, wrapped in a towel, who drags me out from under the stairs, throws me over her shoulder and, without letting me get undressed or giving me any time to react, chucks me into the chipped old bath with a barked cry of 'in!' She watches me for a second as I roll onto my back and into an upright position, glaring at her as I rub my knee in pain. Tally's has never stopped treating me like a kid and it's really starting to get on my nerves. Yes, I understand that my older sister is bigger and stronger than me, and I know she apparently 'knows taekwondo' but does that really justify all this mollycoddling? I'm the one who's preparing myself for the Games, and she still treats me like a baby! She doesn't even close the door as she marches off down the hall, not really allowing me the privacy to actually try and enjoy my forced bath. Not that there is a door to close, though. One of the many disadvantages of the house in which we live is that precious few of the rooms actually have doors, giving the abandoned house of our District's first mayor an even more ramshackle feel.

I don't like living here. Jumping at every shadow and unable to get any privacy in this doorless, windowless, husk with no working lights, but it's not like there's anywhere better. It's the biggest house in the area and, as I rub soap into my back, glad to have a months worth of dust off of my skin, I can sort of see why they chose this house. At the end of the day, despite all of the houses leaky ceilings and creaky floorboards and chipped metal baths, it's still the nicest house in the area. Sure it has a bit of a bat infestation, and we do have to change rooms a lot to avoid falling bits of wood, but that's no different to any other house in the District, and at least one doesn't have a loom taking up half the house and actually has more than one floor. I smile to myself as I dab my bruised knee with my mangy old flannel. Life is bad for me but, to be quite honest, it could be worse.

The monthly cleaning process takes about two hours and when, just as the sun is rising from behind the trees, I step out the hole where the door should be and walk away from the creaking behemoth, I feel cleaner than I have in a long time! Tallys ruffles my hair as we make our way to the town center, flanked by groups of Peacekeepers, who are there to make sure we can't escape. Not that anyone would really want to, it's not like the chances of anyone getting chosen is high, and the only place to go is the woods, with their twisting trees, groups of wolves and bears and thousands of squeaking bats. That's why this District only has one fence around it, it's not to keep the men in, it's to keep the wolves out. And the citizens aren't much better. The mills are a dirty, shabby place to work and, with so few good builders and so little water, the shacks in which my friends live are in a constant state of disrepair and their faces are normally caked with dust. Maybe that's why I'm bullied by practically everyone I meet. I'm still filthy, poor and miserable, but I'm less filthy, poor and miserable than anyone else.

"First Reaping huh, kid," Someone mutters as I pass, "Try and make sure it's not your last." I shiver, only slightly relieved when Tallys foot collides with his head.

"Squirt." The girl mutters, running her hand through her short hair, "Don't let them get to you yeah, Feli? If those Capitol jackasses think they can mess with you, I'll go instead, OK?" We both laugh, knowing that, should I be chosen, there is nothing she can do. Absolutely nothing.

A freezing wind rustles through the bushes as I'm herded into the 12's section, confronted by odd looks and leering faces of fellow twelve year olds. On the other side of the square, I can see my sister waving from the other side of the square, a nervous smile playing on her lips. I'd do anything to have her confidence, to not have to constantly be running to and fro to my friends, looking for salvation from my many fears. I would love not to jump at every shadow when my friend Rui takes me 'ghost hunting' in the middle of the night, even though she knows I'm terrified of the dark, but I always do. I would love not to shiver whenever my other friend Ramon reads out another one of his many ghost stories, but I can't help myself. I would love not to hold my breath as the gaunt mayor of our District makes his way up to the stage, clutching the hand of our young, white haired, checkerboard eyed Escort, Melody, makes her way onto the stage. She looks odd, and the boys around me look from one to the other in a startled disarray, confusion and surprise etched on their faces. They all think she's 'weird' but, then again, people think I'm weird too. I don't think she looks that weird myself. In fact, as Escort's go, she's actually kind of pretty.

"Hello District Eight!" The girl shouts, getting a less than positive response from us. She only pretends to be playing for us though, we all know who the real audience is. To be honest though, I'm OK with that, it's not the insane Escorts I'm scared of after all. I cross my fingers, praying to whoever's up there that I won't need to use what I learnt from my pictures this year. I'm preparing, but I don't think I'm ready yet.

"Let's start with the boys then shall we?" Melody giggles, pressing her face up against the Mayor's son and tapping him on the nose, before drawing away, leaving the poor kid staring at her, his face a cross between surprise and horror. I feel a smile twitch at the corners of my mouth. That kid's not in any danger, it's not like he's going anyway anytime soon. My smile sinks as I realise I might be. It's not that likely though, since I've only got one slip.

"Feli Hillside!" For a moment I don't understand. Have I done something wrong? Why has she picked me out? I'm twelve! I've barely even started life yet! I've got one slip! One! Slip!

I can't do this! I turn to run, tripping over my own feet in my terror and falling flat on my face. My head twinges, the world blurs...

The next thing I know I'm awake, lying on the stage where the Peacekeepers have dropped me, staring into the worried eyes of Melody. She smiles gently, reaching down and helping me to my feet. There's a tall girl, who looks a little like my sister if she was a dark skinned, long haired, brunette. Well, she's about the right height at least. I shiver as Melody steadies me and look out over the crowd. I'm twelve. I shouldn't be up here. I'm not prepared.

But I'm learning... There's still a tiny fraction of hope.

As I look out over the crowd, that hope dies slightly. Riu's standing there, in the front row, her normally cheery face covered in a maze of creases and pulled into a very unnatural frown. I wince as I see the girl break down, gripping Ramon's arm and crying into his sleeve. He too looks like he's about to cry. I wince, as realisation dawns. My friends aren't as brave as I thought, they're just like me. But the prospect of a tearful goodbye isn't what worries me. What worries me is my sister. My gunho sister. The sister who always protects me. She's just standing there. Not crying, not fighting, not making any fuss. Just standing, watching, her eyes dark. I can tell what she's thinking. She's horrified. Horrified I could be chosen. Horrified that her sweet little brother, the boy she never believed had grown up, is being thrust into the world of the Games. The world I always knew I was coming to eventually, just not this soon. And she's ashamed. Ashamed that she isn't doing anything. That she's not brave enough to act, to do anything. Ashamed that, at the end of the day, she's just as big a coward as me. Albeit a bigger, stronger coward. She's ashamed of herself and, deep down, I cringe as I realise that I too am ashamed of her. I stare at her and she stares back. I lower my eyes, looking back to Riu and Ramon, and my sister turns away, her lip quivering as she pushes through the crowd.

She doesn't make it to my farewells.

* * *

><p><em>Geneva Harper, age 16<em>

"So, remind me why I'm doing this again?" Saul whispers as the ten of us traipse through the woods, sticking to the shadows, trotting along the wood trails and attempting over dramatic leaps and flips which somehow always land headfirst.

"Shh!" I place my finger to my lips, hushing him and, ironically, making much, much more noise than he did in the first place, "Ghosties can hear little boys!" He winces as the sound of my voice shakes a few nearby birds and bats, who fly up out of their perches and further into the wood.

"What about all that noise you just made?" He whispers, and I shush him again. Saul pouts and rams his hands into his pockets as I begin to explain, slouching along behind me.

"Can't hear it." I grin, tapping my nose knowingly, "Ghosties can only hear little boys. Why do you think we're the only one we bought along, little bro?" I laugh. No one else joins in. I guess they're all too caught up in this whole 'ghost hunting' thing. Truth is that I had tried to get some guys, after all I'm pretty popular and a few good looking muscle men would always come in handy if we actually met any ghosts! For some reason, though, none of them wanted to come. They all said they were busy today, so in the end I had to drag along my nine year old brother instead. The other girls aren't exactly impressed, Pallor and Feliicity especially. Really I don't know what they expected, we're a milling District. Any guys we do get will either be jackass Peacekeepers or wimpy weavers. At least Saul works in the family spice shop, so he must have, like, resilient taste buds or something!

"Why can ghosts only hear boys?" Saul asks suddenly, and I spin on my toes, almost stumbling into a tree as I do, and unleashing a few more bats into the sky.

"I'll tell you when you're older Saul, it's not exactly a kids story!" I laugh again, but no one joins in. Spoilsports.

"How much further?" Pallor whines as we wind our way through twisted trees, bracken and what appears to be dead rabbits. Well, at least we'll find a lot of bunny ghosts in the wood!

"Not far." I lie. Seriously, I have know idea where we're going, or what we're going to do with the nets, spices and face paints we bought when we get there. Ghost hunting just sounded fun and I got the idea from some twelve year old chick who works on my plantation. Says she knows a boy who lives in the Mayor's house (yeah right)!

"It's kind of dark isn't it?" Felicity mutters, "How long till the sun comes out?" I shrug. Don't know the answer to that one either, I may be a merchant girl but that doesn't mean I'm rich enough to afford a watch. You'd need at least one Capitol born customer for that, and mom and dad don't have any.

What I do know, however, is that Pallor and Felicity didn't just come for the incentive of chatting up guys. How can I tell? Well they're my friends for one and for two? I know none of us would be able to get a boyfriend if our life depended on it! Felicity's never even talked to Saul without blushing, let alone a guy her age. She goes all red in the face as soon as she sees someone half way decent looking! Pallor's way too self confident as well. She looks pretty enough but any boy who gets too close will be picking metaphors describing her own beauty out of their teeth for the next forty years! And me? Oh yeah, I'm sure a lot of guys are gonna go for some greedy merchant girl who takes your money in return for spices made out of dying leaves and other bits of tat we find in the wood! Seriously, that's a real turn off, walking around collecting odd mushrooms and leaves for your girlfriends parents (I've lost so many guys that way!). What do they think we do, swim to India and collect the pods and twigs we need from there? Yeah right! I don't think 'India' even exists anymore and, even if it did, no ones been to it for centuries. It's a wonder still remembers what 'spice' tastes like (but I'm pretty sure even she's just guessing)!

As my brain continues to whir unnaturally fast we finally burst out into a clearing, staring out through the trees at a small, rather dreary looking shack thing in the middle of the woods. The building is almost completely overgrown, and part of the ceiling has caved in, revealing wooden beams and a crumbling brickwork chimney.

"A ghost house..." Felicity gasps, gripping Saul's shoulder for protection. Unfortunately he does the same, removing any hope these two had that the other might be able to rescue them in a dangerous situation.

"Have any of you," I begin as I wander down to the shack, drawing a pair of bright green camo paint slash things on my cheeks, "Ever heard of the ghost of the Blue Boy?" The girls shake their head, all except for Pallor who, always wanting to outdo me, nods frantically. "Really? OK!" I wander over to Saul and bring my hand up to his face, pointing directly at him, "At a Reapings many, many, many," I breath deeply, boy this scary theatric voice is hard to do, "Many years ago a boy was Reaped. A boy roughly your age!"

"I'm to young to get Reaped." The other girls laugh as Saul corrects me.

"No way!" I seriously didn't know that!

"Yeah, about three years too young actually." Well, well, you learn something new every day!

"OK, roughly your age give or take three years then!" There, that should shut him up! "Where was I... Oh yeah! This boy got reaped and killed in the Game."

"Most people do." Pallor mutters, and I glare at her.

"Yeah well, this guy drowned. And, after that he came back, and now he haunts this shack in the woods for all eternity!" It's not the best ghost story and, even if I had had time to come up with a good one, I doubt I would have told it very well. The others are unimpressed, staring at me like an idiot, which is sort of what I feel like. "Don't believe me, eh?" I grin, reaching for the door handle, "Well... behold!" I fling the door open and, peering in, the ten of us freeze, eyes and mouths wide.

It just so happens that the building I've picked to sneak up on is a gambling ring, part of the seedy underbelly of District Eight. It also happens to be almost entirely crammed with Peacekeepers on their break. And it turns out it was Reapings day too (seriously I'd totally forgotten, guess that explains why no guys wanted to come out with us). I mean, what are the chances, huh?

Apparently my friend can't see the funny side, as the ten of us are dragged into the den, soundly beaten and then escorted to the town square, the promise of more beatings after the Games still ringing in our ears.

"Whaddya know," I grin to a whimpering Saul as he tenderly lifts his shirt and inspects the bruises that crisscross his stomach, "We go ghost hunting and almost become ghosts ourselves! Pretty surreal huh!" I laugh, the others don't join in. For once I can see why, and quickly shush myself as Saul rushes off to find my parents, who are probably somewhere near the entrance to our spice shop, which comes out on the Town Square and six of my seven friends rush to find spaces in the almost entirely crowded pens. Pallor and Felicity stay with me (like they'd leave) but they don't look too happy. Obviously they're still mad about the beatings. They probably blame me as well. We find a place near a blond girl in our class who I know, but whose name I don't remember.

"Good luck." Pallor whispers to the two of us as the Escort waves to the crowd.

"Thanks." I mutter, "We'll need it!" I laugh, causing everyone nearby to look straight at me. Felicity doesn't say anything, instead just shivering and shifting around nervously on the spot.

"Let's start with the boys then shall we?" Aww... I missed the mayor's speech. And I really like him, too. He's funny in a morbid sort of way, like he's struggling to read the words on his cue cards. Our Escort is pretty boring for a Capitolite, just some white haired chick with checker eyes. Seriously, I bet our Capitol guest will be more interesting than her, whoever they are. The boy who's called up is called Feli Hillside and, from the uncomfortable clunk that comes from the twelve section and the way the blond girl stiffens up, I can tell that this isn't going to be a nice Reapings. Peacekeepers shove their way through the crowd, knocking away the slower twelve year olds with the butts of their guns. They lift the boy up on to their shoulders and, as he is carried to the stage, my eyes are dragged back to our Escort on the stage, who appears to be hyperventilating. She forces a smile and, clutching the side of the gold reaping ball, slips her hand inside. When her hand comes out again, it is clutching a small slip of gold leaf paper, which she unfolds and reads.

"Dallas Orchid?" She declares, before realising the slip comes from the gold reaping ball and giving a nervous little giggle before reaching into the girl's Reaping ball. I want to laugh, but I manage to suppress it. A mistake like that is big. They can't put the name back in once they've drawn it, so this sort of thing could be a Career ender. I don't feel like laughing at the possible end of some girl's Career.

What she's next makes me really not feel like laughing.

"Geneva Harper!" I don't feel like laughing. I really, really don't. For the first time in my life I feel like, if I laugh, I'm going to explode.

I grimace my way up to the stage, where I watch the kid, Feli, as he is helped on to his feet, shivering and whimpering. I watch his eyes as he grips my hand. There's fear in them. I smile as comfortingly as I can at him but, somehow, I think that just makes it worse.

I watch grimly as friend after friend visits me to give their condolences. As Felecity and Pallor reminisce on old times and make me promise to come back and Saul blubbers into my shirt, unable to form coherent words. It's so, so sad. Really it is.

And then I get on the train, and I see all that food and drink laid out in front of me, and the Avoxes, and the men in posh costumes.

And I laugh. I can't help it. I laugh and laugh until my breath runs out and I collapse in a heap. Feli staring at me like I'm some kind of madman. Like he thinks I'm happy to die.

I'm not. I just need something to fill the void.

* * *

><p><em>Dallas Orchid, age 17<em>

What do you do when you've kissed every girl at the party, eaten every type of snack at the buffet and danced to every song?

Well, if your me, you say goodnight and head upstairs to bed. Sans the girl who was clinging to my shoulder when I left. I'm cool like that. Most girls get mad when guys leave them waiting. When I do it, chances are she'll still be waiting three weeks down the line. I'm just that smooth.

I grin to myself as I pass a mirror, winking as I flick a stray blue and green feather out of my acid green eyes. They're nice eyes, if I do say so myself, but not quite as nice as the peacock feathers I'm proud to call my hair. It was an unbelievably expensive operation, as were the muscle and height augments, but, then again, my parents were all too willing to pay for it.

Well OK they don't know yet, but they don't care. Before they left last time they told me I was too old for a nanny, before chucking a credit card at me and blasting off on some cruise ship to 'parts unknown' as they call it. And that was their idea of a holiday! It doesn't matter that much. The operations may have been expensive, but I know for a fact that, even without my parents hanging around to fiddle their expenses, their company makes at least ten times as much as those alterations cost in a week! How can one family business make enough money to keep a boy like me in a massive mansion, throwing parties every night and sitting round watching TV all day? Simple. Ever heard of Capi-Tek? My family sure has. Mom set up one software company. Dad set up another. They fall in love, marry, merge businesses and boom, suddenly you've got some massive industry that's known in all Panem. They sell phones, TVs, radios, genetic alterations, anything at all they can to get money. And they sponsor anything! Literally anything The Hunger Games. sports teams, every show I ever watched as a kid, any clothes line I like. Even the bleeding house has a massive great logo slammed on it, lest we forget who owns the thing. Ah well, at least everyone knows where to find me when I throw another party, which is every other week. I look out the window as I climb the stairs, taking in the acres of grass and trees that my parents called a garden, and then the flashing lights of the Capitol. This is almost the furthest from the Capitol you can possibly get which, for me, isn't a good thing. I can't drive yet and I don't exactly feel like walking so, now that Mom and Dad think I'm too old for a nanny, and too young for a personal chauffeur, I can't exactly go down to a club whenever I feel like.

All in all, I guess my life is pretty good for me. I've got money, stunning good looks and more girls numbers than I have millimeters in my arms (and believe me that's a lot). So I have everything you say? Wrong. I'm missing one thing. One really, really important thing.

Parents. Off in parts unknown. Or that's what they say whenever they call (which is once a month). Personally I don't believe they're going on holiday at all. I just think they've gone to District Three again and don't want me to worry that they might get killed by rebels. They don't need to worry about me worrying. I'm not going to. My smile flickers ever so slightly as I climb another flight of stairs, narrowly avoiding a gaggle of girls who are clearly tracking me down, phone numbers clasped in their hands. Any other time and I'd be perfectly fine with that. But night's different. I've got stuff to deal with.

I take the stairs two at a time as I rush past level after level of the house, dodging avoxes, servants and party goers alike until I arrive on the fifth floor, to find her standing there, in her nightgown, staring down at me. I bring a smile onto my lips, as easily as if I'm pulling on a shirt, and walk up to my little six year old sister, Ophelia. She leaps at me, arms flung wide, but I'm ready for that old routine, catching her in midair and pulling her into a hug before she can topple down the stairs. The last time that happened her nanny really got mad at me!

I try to repress smile as she giggles at me, wriggling around, pulling bits of my tassly costume, smudging my eye makeup, pulling feathers and generally being a nuisance.

"I wan' feathers like you!" She whines as I carry her to her bed, plonking her down on it and smiling at her. I wouldn't do this normally but, really this is beyond Nanny Edgewood's job description, and Ophelia won't go to sleep if I don't tuck her in. She gets something out of it, I suppose. To be honest I get something out of it too. It's funny because we see each other all the time. We spend every day together, me, her and Nanny Edgewood. We have the whole house to ourselves and it never matters. Maybe it's just something about going to sleep, that she needs someone who cares to tuck her in. Maybe I need to feel like there's someone else there, outside my constantly changing army of friends. I think it might be that, but I'm not sure. I remember being lonely for eleven years before she was born, or rather dropped on me, so maybe it's for the best. I don't really know what it is. All I know is, if I don't do this little miss strop-phelia comes down to my party and messes everything up, and I'm not having that happen again!

I throw the covers over her and fluff the pillows on the massive bed, watching as the girl wriggles about under the covers and grins up at me, her blind hair flying everywhere.

"Why can't I have feathers?" She squawks and I fix her with a dashing big brother smile, repeating what I've said a billion times before. Saying what I've heard Nanny Edgewood say.

"You're too young," I explain, "You might not want feathers later."

"But I want them now!" She shrieks, banging her fists against the mattress. My smile droops a bit as I raise my finger to my lips and shush her. It works, and I continue.

"But you might not later." I whisper, plucking a feather, with only a slight wince of pain, and tickling her nose with it. She giggles. "Night light?"

"Uh huh."

"Still afraid then?" I smile, flicking the switch for the little electronic clowns nose to come on, bathing the room in light. Ophelia nods again, eyes wide.

"There isn't anything to be scared about," I smile, ruffling her hair as I sit on the edge of the bed. "Nothing at all in the whole wide world." She shakes her head.

"Is too." She says, and I laugh.

"Not as long as I'm here there's not." I fix her with a grin, trying to make my eyes as trustworthy as possible. Like the fathers on those old TV shows. The ones who are always right all the time. Like me.

"But what about once you're gone?" My smile disappears completely and, for the first time in weeks, a frown crosses my face.

It's funny how little kids can say things so innocently and yet go straight through the shield you put up every time. Her words cut me like a knife and, for the first time since I callously chucked a few extra names in that box to win a bet, it all comes flooding back.

The Hunger Games.

I'm up for the draw like everybody else. I've been entered six times like every seventeen year old. Sixteen if you count those extra I bought. And the draws tomorrow! Don't get me wrong, I want to go, but, at the same time, I kind of don't. I mean, for one thing, it's the Hunger Games! The show everyone watches from the time we turn ten, with kids just like us fighting for survival! It's part of our heritage and a fun time to be had by all! Who wouldn't want to go and see those close up? But then... there's Ophelia. And I can't just leave Ophelia, no matter how much I try I won't be able to until either Nanny Edgewood agrees to take her on full time or we get much, much better parents! She's right, really, things are only safe when I'm around, and I can't put my little sister in danger. Not for all the money or prizes in the world. It's unlikely that I'm going. Most kids my age have thousands of slips in each ball, and their parents bribing the Games Makers to get even more slips, so I really shouldn't be worrying but, still, there's that naggling voice of doubt in my head. The one that just won't go away. I get up and walk towards the door, fretfully thinking over what would happen if my name was chosen. I'm almost out of the room when I hear the sound of ruffling covers, and spin around just in time to spot Ophelia climbing out of bed.

"Get back in bed." I mutter.

"Not until you promise to stay!" She laughs, placing her hand on her hip defiantly. I groan, coming back to her bedside. I always come back for her, after all. I smile gently, slipping into the massive four poster bed and smiling at her as she gives in, slipping in next to me and quickly falling asleep. I wrap my arm around her head and kiss her on the forehead, eyes drifting slowly closed. This Games is probably nothing to worry about really. Just another excuse to have a party for me.

The party. It crosses my mind as I drift off that I forgot to send them home. Ah well, they'll get the idea once I don't come down. Besides, Ophelia is more important.

I have to stay with her. No matter what. If anything else comes up I just have to let them know that I'm not interested.

But, that horrible doubt still gnaws away at my skull, like a virus. If I really do get Reaped, if I do have to leave Ophelia for some stupid competition will I be able to refuse the Games Makers.

A/N: Question of the Day: What's your tributes greatest fear.


	10. D9: Smoke and Mirrors

A/N: I am so sorry for, another, tremendously long delay and, if anyone is still reading this, I promise this lengthy wait is a (hopefully) one off occurrence. During my two week holiday, four of the five computers in our house have broken down, and I had to rewrite this chapter entirely from scratch without internet access. Well, guess I've learnt to always keep a backup copy.

Anyway, today's tributes were created by Hollow Kuchiki (I think that's how it's spelled) and MySoulToReap. I hope they, and in turn you, enjoy this chapter!

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety-Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**District Nine**

_Yelena Sofiyanski, age 15_

"Yelena! Could you come here please? Dad wants to talk to you!"

The first thing anyone needs to know about people is that they never say what they mean. When a teacher says that you aren't in trouble, it means you are. When someone tells you they know what they're doing, it's pretty clear they don't. It's the same with everyone around here. No one in this District ever says what they think or what they mean, they always feel that they have to lie to get what they want! Sometimes it all gets so bad that I just want to scream at the sky!

So, as you can imagine, I am none to pleased when my good for nothing sister, Illyana, comes to lie to me about my good for nothing father wanting to talk to me. I know he doesn't want to talk. We've barely talked in two years. Hell, I'll be lucky if he just glares at me!

"Sure." I snap at her, fixing a glare on that giggly blond mask of hers. It may work on those musclebound idiots at her school, but it doesn't work on me!

"Yelena," She mutters, dropping her infuriating charade and snarling at me, "Your father wishes to see you."

"Oh? He wants to see me now does he?" I chuckle, "What ever happened to going to 'go get Reaped on your own'?" You see what I mean about lying. My father doesn't even like to tell me when he wants me around, he just sends me off and then gets my 'oh-so-lovely' sister to do it for him. "Am I finally good enough to reenter our 'oh so perfect' family?"

"Yelena!" My sister whines, shuffling about nervously under the confused gazes of the shifting mob, "Please! You're creating a scene!"

"Oh really?" I laugh, "You're the one who wanted to talk to me, sister." She winces, as though she doesn't want people to know we're related. As if they haven't already guessed that the two tall, blond kids in the middle of a District full of dark haired, tanned people are related!

"Please Yelena." She sniffs, pretending to sound upset. It's not convincing, her voice isn't even wavering, "I can't help it if Dad hates you!"

"You can help the fact that you support him." I smile and the girl falters, trying to decide which emotion to act. She tries fury, disgust, surprise, sadness. All those emotions flash across her face in a few seconds and then, finally, it settles on the latter, and she begins to speak. Ever the actor.

"I just want our family to be together..." She whimpers and for a moment I feel like laughing. She would say that wouldn't she? Always trying to be the peacemaker. It won't work. Our families far too sick for any sort of miracle cure. As if to illustrate my point, a hand suddenly shoots out of nowhere, gripping me, rather too tightly, by the shoulder and the leering visage of my father forces its way into my view, simpering sickeningly at my sweet little sister.

"We'll never be a family again," My father mutters, his voice filled with a mixture of contempt and sorrow, "Not unless that monster of a brother of yours can bring back corpses as well as create them!" I chuckle softly, raising an eyebrow at him. He's poetic, I'll give him that.

"How do I have anything to do with mother's death?" I ask as calmly as I can. Yes, my mother is dead. I don't like to talk about it, it brings back memories that I'd very much like to forget.

"She seemed to think you were bad news." My father growls.

"Went a little crazy," I shrug, "A lot of people do that before they die."

"Don't say that about my wife," My father hisses, "It's your fault she's dead!"

"How?" I roar, almost laughing at my father's illogical decision, "She died in child birth! I was six at the time! If anything Illyana is more of a reason for mother's death than I am!" The girl in question gasps and my father smacks me over the head, his eyes dark. The chuckle building in my throat becomes a splutter and I fall to the ground, more shocked than hurt.

"How dare you." My father snarls, "First my wife and now my daughter? How many lives do you plan to destroy?" I grin, pulling myself to my feet. The man is lying. Lying to himself. He needs someone to blame other than himself and I, his least favorite, so much less than his beloved, perfect daughter, am the obvious suspect. Why? I'm almost the same as her. We're about the same height and weight. We have the same hair, the same eyes, the same way of speaking. She's only a year older than me. And yet I have a letter of difference in my chromosomes and, all of a sudden, I'm the bad guy! He makes me out to be a murderer, even though I never did anything to him in my life. Well, I'll give him truth. Yes, I'll give him more truth than he can ever handle.

"How many lives," My father repeats, his voice nothing but anger and misplaced hatred, "Must you ruin before your happy?"

"Only one," I chuckle, my blue eyes sparking dangerously as the crowd either tries to ignore us or gathers around. "Yours."

My sister gasps, covering her mouth in a gesture of mock surprise as the man raises his hand, slapping me hard across the face.

"Stop it both of you!" The girl squawks as my father knocks me over the head again. I hate it when they lie. I hate it when they touch me as well, especially father. Who does he think he is, smacking me around like he controls me? I roar at him, leaping at him and punching him hard in the face, even as his foot comes up into my stomach. My sister somehow gets between us, laying a hand on my chest and pushing me backwards. We're surrounded now, a million eyes glaring down, pushing on me. Her fingers dig into my skin and I feel white hot fury boiling up inside me as her nails scrape and scratch against my flesh. With one hand I knock her away, my own nails slashing against her neck and knocking her backwards. She cries out as I disappear into the crowd, my 'oh so lovely' relatives clawing at me and howling at the lights. She should have known, really, I'm not the sort of person who likes being touched. Not by anyone, not even my sister! I'm a complex person and one off my pet hates is being touched. It's too close for my liking. Too personal. And I'm not exactly a touchy-feely person, unless it's fighting. That's the one thing I'm OK with, I think, because I'm so furious that I don't notice the groping hands, the grubby prints or the scratching nails. In that way I guess I'd make a good tribute. It would certainly get me away from that ridiculous father of mine and my simpering sister. Away from all the rumors and the doctors.

I find my place in the crowd, standing next to my friend Holly and gazing up at the patchwork Escort. They're polar opposites, the Escort and Holly. Holly's a year older than me and the only honest person I know whereas the Escort? Well, anyone with patchwork skin is obviously trying to be someone they're not and, for me, that's disgusting! Holly grins and cracks jokes all the way through the Mayor's speech and even plays a mock drum roll as the Escort dips her hand into the ball. It's a good display and, if I hadn't just had another row with my father, I'd probably find it even funnier. The patchwork woman on stage retrieves the name of some girl I don't know and couldn't care less about and Holly gives an over the top groan. I can't help but chuckling under my breath at that. Holly makes no secret of the fact thats she wants to go to the Games as soon as she's old enough. I keep asking her why she doesn't just volunteer but, apparently, she doesn't want to be seen as some stupid Career. I can sort of see why.

"A chance to get away from father?" I reply, "I'd give anything for that." I'm not being dramatic or exaggerating. The idea of going to the Hunger Games fascinates me for some reason. The thought that, some day, I can get away from all of this. It raises so many questions. Could I kill? Could I endure the baying crowds and flying flags, the thousands of people chanting my name? And, if I could, would I be able to live in the Capitol and never have to see this petty, lying District again?

The answer to all of these is a resounding yes and, as the Escorts hand drops into the boys' ball, I cross my fingers. Hopefully the amount of terssare my father must have entered in for me will give the desired effect for both! Whether I live or die, well, I'll never have to see the bastard again!

"Yelena Sofiyanski!" I smile slightly, turning to Holly and grinning widely as she stares into my eyes, stricken with horror. So she was lying when she said she was ready to go into the Games. Shame, but never mind. She's still more truthful than anyone else in this damned District. I turn away from her, without letting her clawing hands envelope me and stride up to the stage. My sister's crying somewhere. Well let her! She had her chance to side with me and she chose my father instead, the one man who I can never get on with. Let them have their little family! I will have no more part of it!

The girl on the stage stares at the scar on my face as I step up. She probably thinks that the savage, pale red slash that runs across my eye and down to my lips was caused by a fight. She probably thinks I'm some sort of gang member, some horrible beast who has come to kill her. Unfortunately none of this is true. It's caused by Peacekeepers because of a crime I never committed. Yet another memento of the veil of lies that covers this District!

I really wish that girl would stop staring at me. Her eyes don't look right, and that savage frown on her face is beginning to make me feel nervous.

When we're told to shake she grips my hand in a tight squeeze, her long nails digging into my hand. I wince as she presses forwards, drawing my hand back. Trying to pull it away but, every time I try her grip tightens. A smile creases her face as my own smile falters and I snap, twisting her arm to one side and pulling my hand away.

There's a sickening click and, even as I turn away to wave to the crowd, the girl falls to her knees, tears streaking down her face, her hand clutched to her chest. All eyes are on me as the Patchwork Escort shakes her head, calling for Doctors and the past victors tut and sigh under their breath. My smile stays on my face, but my hands drop to my sides. They think I'm a monster, that I've intentionally wounded my partner, with the hope that it will make victory easier for me once I'm in the Games.

But I didn't mean anything! I swear it! It was an accident.

And, amazingly, that's exactly what the Patchwork Escort and her hopeless cronies believe! The smile on my face disappears, but it continues to grow under my face as I am led away for my farewells. It's pathetic really, how easily the world is led by a convincing enough act of innocence! They should know themselves, really, I'm just an average person after all.

And people never tell the truth!

* * *

><p><em>Vylia Stone, age 17<em>

One year ago my sister, Alylla Stone, died. One year ago she stood on that stage, shouting a challenge down to the muscle bound thug who had been Reaped before her as he pounded away at the surrounding Peacekeepers. She Volunteered, went to her death on some unconceivable whim. She never even said goodbye, she was too busy bragging about how she'd come back a Victor, or die trying. She died at the hands of the boy she met that day, her District partner who smashed her head in with a lamp. The family mourned, the family moved on. A lot of people die in these Districts and mourning them for too long just gets you killed by Peacekeepers. They got over it, and they told me to do the same, but I couldn't. I had to think about it, had to remember. Every day it haunted me.

Until today, when the cruel hand of fate has finally decided that one dead Stone is not enough and has condemned me to join my sister, only a year after her death! I watch the crowd stare up at me, a couple of them know me, a few more recognise me as the sister of a tribute last year and those that do mutter apologies or whisper to their mates. Most, however, are completely impassive. It makes me feel sick. Don't they know that I'm going to my death? Can't they tell from my spindly frame and lack of muscle that I don't stand nearly as much of a chance as my sister, who died before the final eight? I feel myself shaking slightly at that thought. The strongest, most prepared girl I had ever met died before the final eight, before a girl with a bad leg and a thirteen year old kid! What chance do I have?

The patchwork skinned Escort calls out another name and I tense, imagining the tanned hulk of a boy who killed my sister storming out of the crowd, cheering and whooping as he anticipates killing the second daughter of the Stone family.

Fortunately a hulking monster isn't what I get in fact, my partner is almost nothing like that rugged murderer who killed Alylla. He's a couple of years younger than me, for starters, tall, pale and blond. He wears the crisp pin stripped suit and thick black gloves, but that's not what draws my eyes. What I notice is the face. A lazy smile sprawled across his features and his hands thrust into his pockets. He looks eerily relaxed, casual even, as he brushes off the hands of his friend and swaggers up to the stage. Slightly more unnerving, however, is the thin pinkie-yellow scar that runs from his eye socket down to his mouth, disrupting an otherwise rather handsome face. He's a fighter! For a minute I feel like screaming, or running or trying to demand another name being drawn. Just anything to stop me from going into the Games with a trained fighter.

But then, I start to come to my senses.

I admit it's sort of creepy the scar and the smile but, really, I shouldn't be too worried. Our District works with heavy machinery and the Peacekeepers are tough, so a lot of people have scars. And the smile, he's probably just putting on an act! In fact, even if he is a trained fighter, it's probably better for me. I can make friends with him and maybe form an alliance, and then both of us can get out of the Games alive! I shouldn't be worried! In fact, as the Escort takes my hand and presses it into his gloved one, I feel terrible for thinking he was some sort of murderer. I force a smile, and that's when I notice it. He's shaking slightly and his smile is quivering. In fact his whole hand is trembling and twitching. It seems this guy isn't as steadfast as he seems. I squeeze his hand, forcing a comforting smile onto my mouth and, in that instant, something flashes in his eyes. He twists his hand around mine, slamming my arm backwards with his own in one deft movement before pulling sharply back. Pain blossoms up in my hand and I drop to the ground, clutching my hand, staring up through watery eyes at the smile stretched across his face. The face blurs, swimming away through the cloud of tears that fogs my vision but I still hear his voice. He apologizes profusely as I am led away but, despite the sincerity in his voice, I can't forget that smile, that horrible, horrible smile.

The first person to visit me for my farewells is the family doctor, who is quick to inform me that my hand has received no permanent damage and that the injury is purely accidental.

"You'll be just as able to win these Games as you always were," He says as he leaves. The thought doesn't make me feel any better.

My family are the next to visit me. It's not the best display of stoicism, I'll admit. They spend most of the goodbye crying and promising me that the same thing that happened to Alylla won't happen to me. I'm sure they're right, I probably won't even make it past the Bloodbath! It's a sobering thought and, despite my best efforts, I can't even manage to tell them that I'll be all right, or even that I'll try my hardest! It just all seems so hollow.

The goodbye is going pretty much how I imagined it would when, all of a sudden, the door bursts open and a huge man bursts in, almost banging his head on the ceiling as he comes. He stares down at me through large, almost bug like goggles which completely obscure his eyes and, when combined with the cloth that covers the lower part of his face, makes his expression impossible to read.

"Ms Stone," He snarls, his voice low and gravely, but carrying a certain charisma of someone who knows he is in charge of a situation and will do all he can to keep it that way, "I need to talk to you for a moment," He regards my family, casting eyes over my older brother and younger sister and giving a brief snort. "In private if you please." I stare at him, bewildered, as my parents are dragged out of the room by Peacekeepers. I feel like saying something but, in an instant, the man ducks forwards, jabbing his finger into the blue black swelling on my hand and causing me to cry out in pain. He takes the opportunity to shush me and carry on talking.

"Before you say anything," He mutters, keeping his voice as quiet as possible and speaking so quickly that his speech comes out in a single breath, "Let me speak. My name is Lock and, I know it's illegal, I know you're probably going to die and I know I broke up your final goodbye but, so help me, I want to help you." He pauses, giving time to let the information sink in before adding. "I'm a Victor, if that helps." There's a long, uncomfortable, pause. "I'm not very good at this sort of thing." I hope he's not talking about training because, if he is, I'm dead. I think about for a long while. If he is a Victor then it could always help me win, but I never heard the name Lock before this very moment, and the idea that a big strong Victor would ever want to help me is just laughable. It seems like some sort of elaborate practical joke, but who would possibly want to do something like that to me, a child condemned to death!

"Why?" I finally manage to croak, and the man jolts. Clearly he hasn't expected what should have been the most obvious question of all!

"Why what?" He asks, trying to sound as casual as he can, but it's a poor act.

"Why do you want to help me?" I reply, "It's not every day that a Victor offers help to some random tribute, especially not one like me, so why are you doing this?" He thinks for a moment, his brow furrowing under his dirty blond hair before kneeling down close to me, and muttering in my ear.

"I can't tell you." He whispers and I sigh.

"Why not?"

"Can't tell you that either." He gets up to leave, looking back before I go, "If you want help just find me, you have until the last day of training to accept my help." I stare at the back of his head as he throws open the door. I feel like some horrible part of this Lock person's own personal game. He has nothing to lose and everything to gain. I feel powerless, and it feels horrible, but there's nothing I can do. Unless...

"Wait!" The man turns and stares back at me, "Before you go can I ask you something?" He shrugs.

"Sure."

"If I win, will you tell me why you're helping me?" The man pauses, lifts a scarred hand to his covered face and contemplates the question. He shrugs again and laughs, a husky, rather weak sound that fills my heart with dread.

"Sure," He chuckles, "Make it out and I'll tell you. That'll be our little wager!" He turns again and leaves, his heavy boots clicking against the ground as he steps out of the carpeted room.

So, I have something to gain from our deal. It's not much, but it gives me something to cling to and, right now, something to cling to is exactly what I need.

* * *

><p><em>Cesse Pete, Nearly 13<em>

I can't believe this actually worked! My parents said that sleeping out for a week near the Gates of the Games Makers tower was a stupid idea but HA! Which one of us is standing by those very gates right now, snapping pictures at the very front of the crowd? Me, that's who! And which one of us is right in front of the cameras? Me! And which one of us is in one of the only three venues in all of Panem where the Hunger Games results are announced live? Once again, me!

It does have its drawbacks, though, waiting here for so long. For one thing I'm still in my pajamas, which, while they are a nice pink colour with a huge collar and they are very comfortable, are not exactly the height of fashion anywhere but in bed, which I haven't spent that much time in due to being in a tacky little tent. Another problem is there isn't any real food out here and, while I did bring money, the furthest I can go from the tower if I don't want my space stolen is the District Four style restaurant on the corner, run by a pair of 'freed', but not especially talkative, Avoxes who set it up after a new law meant their master was allowed to let them go if they were good enough. It serves good food, but it's all crabs and stuff, which really makes your breath stink. So while I did get a really nice space, I'm dirty, hungry and dressed in my night clothes. I look practically like a District kid! Except that I have a tail and . And white hair that glows blue in the dark! And I doubt any of those dumb District kids could afford gold eyeliner or teal nail polish. So I guess I'm pretty lucky. Go me!

I stretch sleepily as I pore through my camera thing. Well actually it's a camara come phone come mini computer come games console thing. Apparently it should be called a DayMaster 9000, but it looks like an old fashioned camera, so I call it a camera thing. I check the list of calls. Cindy Wakell, Suzy Bandaro, Sandra Kingston, Harmony Page, Ashleigh Hewson. I have no idea who any of these girls actually are but, from the constant stream of messages I keep getting from them, I'm pretty sure I met them at a party, and that most of them are older than me. The fact they keep calling me 'cute' kind of gives it away. I really wish they'd stop sending me things. I'm really not at all good with girls when I'm not drunk, and I'm pretty sure my mom will ground me for life if she finds another one of their voice mails I forgot to delete. Maybe if I knew who these people were I could find them and tell them I really want them to stop sending me things, but that's probably never going to happen. I suppose it's my own fault really, not remembering them. About five years back I got into these drinks called 'Venus Dew' at the nearest, and dearest, club to where I live. My parents took me there for my eighth birthday, just after my tail had been implanted and the connected nerves and bones were still sore, so I couldn't exactly sit down. I hadn't exactly got the hang of sitting with a tail anyway, so it didn't matter that much. The host, Vlad, suggested we might like one. My mom was a bit concerned but, since it wasn't addictive or anything and only contained a little alcohol, I was allowed it. It tastes of cherry and kind of alters your brain turn you into a mega confident, ultra amazing party animal, which was just what I wanted. The only problem is that it does sort of bleach your brain the morning afterward, erasing memory of the whole event pretty soon after you wake up. But, hey, at least I don't remember anything really stupid or embarrassing that I do while I'm out on the town. I smile wistfully, remembering the indistinguishable haze that was the last time I went out partying. It could have been a great night, it could have been the worst night of my life, I really can't remember. All I remember is this warm, fuzzy feeling which I always get after I drink the stuff. One of the Peacekeepers, a young, green haired girl who looks rather stuck up smiles as she sees me, snapping photos in my pajamas with my tail and my white spiky hair. I snap a few photos of her and her grin widens. What do you know, I might finally be getting the hang of this 'interacting with girls when not drunk' thing!

It's at that exact moment that my camera bleeps and I look down. I sigh, another message from that Xiomara Bellum girl. From what I gather I met her at a party about a year ago. She's a couple of years older than me but seemed really pleased about me asking for her number and has been mailing me practically every day. Thankfully she doesn't send pictures, I think if I had to delete anymore of those every day I'd have a heart attack, but she does send lots of useless bits of trivia and about one million conspiracy theories. I purse my lips, making an odd clicking sound and flicking open the message screen at the side.

"_I'm standing behind you..._" I gasp suddenly, as a few images of the night I met her come flooding back. Instinctually I leap forwards. It doesn't help and, even as the Peacekeepers jump in surprise and reach for their batons, I feel my tail grabbed from behind and myself tugged backwards, before being spun round to face the girl behind me.

Xiomara is nothing like I'd expect her to look. I'd expect a nerdy, conspiracy theorist girl with glasses and no alterations, but she's nothing like that. She's got orange skin and purple and yellow hair, with these little fangs sticking out over her bottom lip, lots of piercings in her ears and a weird symbol drawn on her stomach. She's also pretty odd in what she's wearing. An odd crop top that somehow stays up despite having seemingly no shoulder straps, a long purple skirt and this weird turban thing, perched on her head at a very odd angle, on account of a head torch and sunglasses that have also be jammed on there. All in all a pretty good looking girl, in a really, really unorthodox sort of way, but then I guess I'm pretty crazy too, so who's to judge. She giggles at me as I try to pull my tail out of her grip, twirling it in between her fingers and stroking the multi coloured fur with an almost scientific interest.

"Nice costume." She says, completely serious. I stare at her mouth agape, "How did you get the tail hole?"

"Cut it." I say, to bemused to really think about making up an excuse. It almost hurts me to admit that, after a month of sleeping in discomfort, I'd finally just cut a hole in it with a pair of scissors.

"Clever." She says, staring up into the sky for a moment and waving at one of the cameras buzzing around her head, "My dad's a cameraman by the way. Nice seeing you again."

"Oh, err. You too." I say, scratching the back of my head. I try to twitch my tail away from her, but the girl doesn't let go, still holding the tail. I blush slightly, she's standing too close for my liking. I step back. She steps forwards and giggles again. I smile, forcing a laugh as I look for an excuse to get away from this crazy girl. That or some

"I've entered that competition to visit the Games," She says, changing the subject so quickly it makes my head spin, "Probably won't win though. Did you know that the only way to get in is to bribe the Games Makers. That or work for the company!" She's seems to be completely ignorant of the fact that her family does, in fact, work for the company.

"Oh come on, that's just a rumor!" I say, and the girl pouts, clearly annoyed. Her fists tighten slightly, inadvertently squeezing my tail. I cry out and she apologises almost immediately, before remembering she's supposed to be angry and breaking into a tirade.

"It's not a rumor, monkey boy!" she snaps, and I find myself suddenly angry, standing on tiptoes so that I can glare into her eyes.

"Weren't you the one who sent me that message saying that alterations were a secret conspiracy to spread mind control?" I say, pointedly flicking my tail to her orange skin, purple eyes and little fangs.

"Just because they spread mind control," The girl replies, "Doesn't mean it's not good mind control. Now shush. The Grand High Pope of Games Making's about to make a speech." I turn, spotting Felix Fortissimus, the Capitol's newest, and loudest, Games Maker, takes the stage. How anyone could mistake him for a 'Pope' is beyond me!

"HELLO PANEM! ARE YOU READY?" The man roars, as the crowd cheer and holler. None cheer louder than me and Xiomara, though. "I CAN'T HEAR YOU!" he bellows, and we scream are approval back at him. "GREAT." He smiles, turning to the screen and pushing the button, revealing a massive boy. He looks about three times the height of me, clutching a peace of paper which he managed to pull from the golden ball without even straightening his arm.

"Cesspit." The boy reads, before correcting himself. It's a name. My name. But my parents wouldn't even let me enter! It all comes flooding back to me. It's my birthday the day before the Games start in earnest. It must be some sort of birthday present, enter my name and hope I get in. That or bribe the Games Makers. Both my parents work in government, it wouldn't be that hard to bribe their son a few thousand tickets in return for a tax cut or twenty. What am I saying? I'm starting to sound like Xiomara!

A massive grin draws itself across my face and my cheer goes up over the rest of the crowd. My faces flashes on a screen above me and I the Peacekeepers part before me. Xiomara congratulates me, clapping her hands gleefully together, before realising she's still holding my tail and letting go immediately. I'd like her to come with me, just so I have some company, but what are the chances of that? I mean, what are the chances of two kids being chosen from the same area of Panem? Minuscule! I grin at the other kids, swishing my tail back and forth as they stare up at me, mouths open gormlessly. The green haired Peacekeeper from earlier ruffles my hair as I pass. I grin. Those District kids on TV every year try to convince us the Peacekeepers are cruel? Seems to me they've just never been very good at sticking on the right side of the law over there! I take a picture of the crowd as the gates close, wanting to remember them cheering. Cheering for me!

I'm quite surprised when no one comes to greet me. I was expecting to meet someone I could talk to, ask a few questions or something, but no one comes. After about thirty seconds I wander off, walking down lavishly carpeted hall after lavishly carpeted hall until I am completely lost. My tail tickles across the floor as I go, which makes my nose twitch slightly. It's nice. My tail seems to 'like' soft things, as much as it's possible for a tail to like anything anyway. I smile slightly as I see a large sign with 'Tributes this way' written on it, I could use some directions.

"...And what about the citizens?" I spin on my heels, staring around as I try desperately to find the source of the sound. My tail whisks up without me thinking, making me quieter as I stop, listening for the voice again.

"The twelve we chose?" A husky voice mutters, "Keep them out of the way. Give them nice things, not much screen time. Pretend they're just normal contest winners." I find the door, a solid oak thing, open a crack. I press my eye up to it, looking in. Three figures stand in the room, a tall man who's leaning heavily on the fireplace, a woman in a long, Victorian dress with bells tied in her hair and a stooped man who stands facing away from the other two, staring out the window. I can't see their faces. The three figures mill around a bit, and then the woman opens her mouth.

"So we're sending them in?" the woman says, as normally as if she were discussing the weather. I never would have guessed it was the woman who I had first heard. Her voice is just so very, gender neutral or something. I gasp, clicking the record button on my camera, even as she's speaking.

"Probably." the man leaning on the fireplace mutters, before spluttering and breaking into a retching cough.

"Why?" The woman asks, seeming more amused than anything else. The other man chuckles, tilting his head to the left and making an odd clicking sound with his neck.

"Execs say it's ratings. Scandal always brings in a few more billion viewers. Old Booky over there thinks it's because It's the twenty-fifth anniversary of that Coin woman's death. Me, I'm doing this for fun. Want to see them crawl," I gulp as I realise what he's talking about, "I'm really surprised they let me do it too. President said it'd be 'interesting'." He coughs a little on the floor, and my face goes pale. The hair on my tail stands on end, quivering slightly as my camera begins to shake in my hand.

"And the newest one? What do you think of him?" The woman asks, her voice still low and disturbingly masculine.

"Pete? Ha!" The man by the window grins, "Saw him coming in in his Pj's. Little idiot should be dead within hours, and that's before he even gets to the Games." The three figures laugh, and I back away from the door, not wanting to listen to anymore. They're sending kids in. Capitol kids! They're sending me!

"AH! CESSE, THERE YOU ARE!" I spin on my heels to find myself facing Felix Fortissimus. The man looks down at me, tweaking his lightning bolt goatee slightly as he cups a glass of some alcoholic drink in his hand. "YOU LOOK PALE!" I nod shakily.

"Th-th-they-they're g-going t-t-t... k-k... m..." I can't finish and find the man kneeling next to me, staring into my eyes. His cool yellow orbs take in my own terrified eyes, lined with golden eyeliner, and he chuckles slightly. I shiver, and he passes me the glass. It shakes in my hand and he smiles gently, steadying it. I take a deep breath, looking at him and squeaking, "To kill me!"

"KILL YOU?" He laughs, a loud, booming laugh, "OH NO, NO, NO! YOU MUST HAVE MISHEARD!" I shake my head. "YES YOU DID." I shake my head again and he tuts. Lifting the drink. "TAKE A SIP. YOU'LL FEEL BETTER." I nod, tears beginning to force their way out of my eyes, streaking my makeup. I sip the drink.

Or at least, I mean to. Unfortunately, years of habit means that the smallest amount I can drink in one gulp is a swig, so I take a mouthful of the stuff and swallow it down. I notice the taste of cherry even as it passes my tongue. My eyes widen as I recognise the taste of Venus Dew and the man's smile, while still calm and friendly, grows significantly. His other hand rests on my arm, stopping it from raising to stop him.

"Drink up now." He smiles, his voice quieter than I've ever heard it before, "There's a good boy."

"W-wait!" I gulp, and the man's eyes flash with sadness, his smile disappearing. My vision clouds over as the drink takes its effect, dulling my senses and overpowering my mind with a sudden sense of pure bliss.

"So," A husky voice says from behind me, "seems the boy's more interesting than we thought." I hear bells from behind me and, as I stumble towards Felix, babbling about death as though it's the most fun to be had in a century. The bells get nearer, until there right behind my head.

And then a chair hits me. Hard.

I'm going to die. Die in my pajamas, with my silly tail and painted nails.

And you know what? I couldn't be happier!

* * *

><p>AN: Question of the day/ month/ year: Which tribute do you think you are most like?


	11. D10: Without fear

A/N: Sorry it's been so long since my last update, I've just been kind of distracted at the moment, partly by A level homework (So many essays!) And partly by a Hunger Games project that I and Twenty Three other writers are currently working on! I'll give you more info on that as it goes on!

As for the question, I saw some of you had some problems understanding it. To clear up the slight mistake I made, I meant characters from the real Hunger Games, not my SYOT since you don't even know all the characters yet!

Talking of characters todays one's were submitted by wildone93, laralulu and HelloPoppet. I don't really know whether the latter two are still reading but I hope they are, since they both submitted some wonderful tributes! I'm afraid that, while writing this I don't have access to all of the character sheets, so parts of this are done by memory. Be sure to tell me if I make any mistakes! Anyway, on with the story!

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**Distrct Ten**

_Echo Tektra, age 14_

Lots of Capitol guys look at District Ten and think it's a really nice place to live. They see a group of big guys riding around on horses and the vast open country and they start dreaming about cowboys. They imagine a lawless District where the weak are punished without mercy. Where stern, moustached Peackeepers dish out justice with the end of a gun. Where a guy can be shot through the back simply by making a dumb comment or looking too girly.

Which would be a real shame for me if it were true, 'cos I'd be dead by now! Truth is, most guys here are more mouth than muscle, and if they see some kid like me, well they just go all weak at the knees and try not to look like they're staring, which I honestly feel is kind of pathetic. Heck, near no one even wears a stetson if the cameras aren't around! All in all, it's pretty much a normal District, regardless of what people think.

And then there are people who totally fit into those stereotypes exactly, regardless of whether or not it's Reaping day. People who just can't help dressing in rough leather and wearing cowboy hats and spurs whatever the weather! People, in short, like my mom, dad and older brother Savidge.

"Ah c'mon Echo!" Dad bellows as he pushes my wheelchair down the middle of the old dirt track, "Don't ya realise how expensive this here corn is? Have another cob!" I heave a sigh. They're always trying to feed me up and, for some ungodly reason, it's always vegetables. I guess the same meat diet they feed Savidge doesn't apply to me because he's a sports star and I'm crippled. And, to top it all, they pay all the extra money to get those vegetables when they could just be buying meat like everyone else. God damn them, I don't need their sympathy. I pout and say nothing. Why should I?

"I'll have 'em." Savidge grins from under his stetson, tilting it back and slipping the cob into his mouth. Sure, because Dad wants me to have it Savidge wants it. Why not? At least he's not flaunting the fact he can run this year. That got annoying pretty fast. He's such a jerk.

"Savidge," My mother warns him, shaking her fist, "Be nice to ya brother ya here?" Oh god, she's using that stupid 'cowgirl slang' again. How I hate that.

"I ain't done nothing!" Savidge grumbles, his voice muffled by a mouthful of sweetcorn.

"Don't ya 'ain't done anything' me!" My mother growls, "I ain't falling for it. Echo needs his brain food, he can't walk like you ya know!" I cough loudly, just to remind them that Dad is still pushing my wheelchair. I don't like not being able to walk, but I positively hate it when mom tries to use it to gain me pity. I don't need pity.

And what's this about brain food? Just 'cos I can't stand doesn't mean I need stinking brain food to live a decent life.

Doesn't mean I want my brother scoffing my food though.

"Jerk." I scoff at him as he continues chewing, and he quickly claps me around the head before stomping off into the swelling crowd, which has been slowly drifting down to the center of the District since three in the morning. I clench my fists as my mom chases Savidge, trying to get an apology. It seems kind of harsh but I've often wished that Savidge would be Reaped. It would get him out of my hair forever. There's only one problem with this plan. Savidge is nineteen, one year too old to be Reaped. And even if he did go he'd probably win. Goddamn Savidge. I really wish there was some way I could just get away from him.

The crowd has grown bigger by now, and I suddenly find myself pushed into my spot in the fourteen's section. Since it's such a big District, and so few people actually have any sort of vehicle, most people start walking as soon as sunrise. Sunrise the day before if they live particularly far away.

The square where the Reapings always take place is comprised mostly of shops, with the Mayor's office crammed up at one side and the stage set out infront of us. The whole space has been painted in vibrant colours with cowprint posters hanging from every window, displaying images of past Victors, including a tall, angry looking teen with a scythe, a woman who looks rather frazzled under all that curly red hair and a black haired guy in full cowboy gear sporting a big grin and a bigger axe. I hear that last one's going to be mentoring this year. He seems like a nice guy, so I don't think I'd mind being Reaped if I were going to be mentored by him. I think he may even have a couple of kids of my age.

"Mornin' girly." A voice mutters from behind me, and I turn my head to see the goofy expression of Farleigh Hards.

"How's it going, Farls?" I chuckle, "Anyone tried to kill you yet?" Farleigh takes some time to work out that I'm making fun of him, but when he does he bursts out laughing an claps me on the back.

"Nah," Farleigh laughs, "I think they're all waiting for the Games to start taking shots at me!" We both know he's joking, there's no way anyone would ever want to try and take on Farleigh. Farleigh's a giant of a guy with spiked, almost unrealistically red hair and rather too many freckles. He's also the only guy who's allowed to call me girly on account of the curly blond hair, blue eyes and feminine features. That's mostly because he's the one who beats up all the other kids who call me 'girly'. He's a bit of an idiot, but he's nice enough, and having him standing behind me means that no one will dare lay a finger on me.

The Escort, up on the stage, seems to be trying to hold some sort of karate pose, standing on one leg with her hand held up high above her head and her leg thrust out behind her like some form of statue. Her name's Mandia and she's never spoken a word on stage which, considering she was our mentor's assisstant last year, before he quit to spend more time with his family and took a job in government, means she must be doing something right. Although, I can't help feeling that the legless denim jeans, high heeled boots, skin tight shirt and rather buxom appearance might be something more to do with it. She smiles down at the crowd, her bright, brick red hair twisting and twirling around her head like a snake as she steps down from her pose and drifts over to the first Reaping ball. She dips her hand in and, on the side of the square that houses the most X chromosomes, thousands of girl's hold their breath. Mandia smiles at them, before passing the slip to the Mayor, who clutches it in her hands and reads the name.

"Merlyn Drake." The woman calls. Down in the crowd, something chokes, and then a girl, about my age drags her way out of the crowd. She's shorter than me, with wavy, tangled red hair and lots of freckles. She's good looking alright, but not as good looking as the golden haired, busty chick who pushes her way through the crowds of relieved girls to try and get close to her friend. That girl's name is Melissa, and she lives near me. I've only talked to her a couple of times and she spent the whole time staring at my legs and muttering stuff about how I was a 'poor soul', so we didn't really hit it off, but no one can deny she's beautiful. She stares at that Merlyn chick through doe-like hazel eyes, her face streaked with tears. Farleigh, being just as thick as ever, wolf whistles her and is immediately smacked in the face by some black haired guy who's standing nearby. I've definitely seen him hanging around with Melissa, so I'm not surprised that he seems so mad. Merlyn tries to smile, hugging Melissa tight and clenching her fists as she turns to the stage. She's blinking rapidly and there are tears hanging from her eyelashes. She's fighting it, but I can tell she's going to cry. It's only a matter of time. She makes it to the stage, pushing past any Peacekeepers who step out to try and speed her up, and stares at her shoes as, spining on her heels, Mandia pulls out another slip and passes it to the Mayor with a flourish. The Mayor nods and calls another name.

Mine.

There are sympathetic murmurs as I wheel my way through the crowd, taking great satisfaction in just how many Peacekeepers it takes to heft me onto the stage.

I know I should be scared. I should be terrified! I should be bawling my eyes out and trying to wheel myself away. But I don't. I don't know why but there's only thoughts going through my head right now are ones of victory. I'll show them all I'm not weak. I'll make everyone who ever bullied me pay. Everyone who took me for a sap, who made me, or any member of my family (except maybe Savidge) suffer. I'll get away from Savidge and, when it's all over, I'll settle down in the Capitol, find myself a honey and start a family, and then I'll never have to see this miserable cowboy District ever again. Except maybe Farleigh, I'm Ok with him I guess.

"So." I fix Mandia with my largest smile and give a wink, "Let's get this Games on the road, toots!" She sniffs and turns away, passing me a name she swipes from the Golden Reaping ball in the center. Some kid called Xiomara Bellum. Whatever. My hand is pushed into Merlyn's and for a moment I see a flash of sympathy. I quickly dispel that with a quick compliment about her butt, and watch with glee as her sympathy quickly dissolves into rage. Good. I'd feel bad about having to fight some girl who liked me!

* * *

><p><em>Merlyn Drake, age 14<em>

Death is nothing new to me, I've experienced it many times before. My families never really been that rich and, when I was a kid I had the job of helping to kill rabid or diseased animals. It was the only way we could make ends meat. I hated it, I would have nightmares of ghostly cattle chasing me through the town, asking me why I had done it. But I grew, I toughened up and I learnt to live with death. I became used to it and, for a while, I thought I was invincible to sadness. That I'd seen it all.

My brother died when I was twelve, and it tore me apart. I remember my surviving siblings, little Jonah and Jemima still asking where Yonas was six weeks after we buried him, and four weeks after I ran out of tears. They didn't understand why he was being buried. They used to be triplets. Now they're twins. And people ask me why I'm so serious. It's because I've lost my heart. It disappeared when Yonas died, to be replaced by a huge void of panic, fear and anger. I can't laugh for the pain and I can't cry for the fury. I'm hollow, and I'm pretty sure it's killing me.

I sit silently, staring out of the window, my expression one of passive rage. I wanted to burst into tears and beg them to let me go. I wanted to hug my friends and family and tell them it would be alright, but I don't want them to suffer. I don't want them to see me suffer. I even tried to laugh at a few jokes which Rudi made, but it just didn't feel right. I just can't do anything like that. I'm too hollow. Far too hollow. All I've actually come close to doing today is strangling the Escort.

"Nice seat." Echo snickers, nodding at the cushy sofa I'm seated on. I force a smile, nodding slightly. Then I realise that that's another veiled quip about my butt. Jerk. I can't believe I pitied him just because he can't walk.

He didn't cry either, in fact he laughed and joked his way through the goodbyes. It reminded me of slightly of Rudi, except Rudi never made jokes about my butt. I heard Rudi hit that Echo kids friend in the Reapings, which I have to say was sort of satisfying to hear from the horse's mouth. I smile at the memory, climbing to my feet and looking around the room. I never would have expected them to be able to cram so many pieces into one train. There are sofas, TVs, radios a table, a buffet, a kitchen, a staff chambers and almost fifty servants! It''s the kind of wealth that a girl like me, who spends most of her life in abject poverty, couldn't have ever imagined. If only we'd had this back when I was twelve. Then we never would have gone hungry, and Yonas never would have died. My fists clench and my teeth grind together as anger bubbles up in my stomach. I shut my eyes tightly, forcing it all down until it chokes up into a pit of rage in my stomach. It's not going to help me, or my family and friends if I try to rip that little crippled creep a new one. What will help them, however, is actually surviving the Hunger Games and going home to help my family! I can't deal with making enemies this early on. I need an ally. Well, since there are only three other people in the carriage, I guess don't have a lot of choice. I weigh up my options. My Escort's a selective mute and gets her pay from the Games Makers, so there's no way she'll help me win, my Mentor has spent the whole journey so far looking at a picture of his kids and occasionally shouting at passing Avoxes. I don't think he'll be much use, even if he did win the Games before I was born. That only leaves the servants, who won't even look at me as they pass from carriage to carriage and my jackass District partner who keeps making passes at me. I admit he's not the first choice when you want an ally, but he's the only tribute I know so far and he must be able to do something. Fire a bow or find food or something, anything, to help me live through this nightmare! I sigh, swallowing my pride and turn in my seat towards Echo.

"So." I say. There's a long, awkward silence, as he looks up at me, his bright blue eyes flashing, an odd mix of confusion and glee displayed upon them.

"Yes?" He asks. There's another long pause as I try to think of what to say next. God I wish I was better at this sort of thing.

"Nice trip?"

"Wonderful." Echo sneers, "I've always wanted to go and fight older kids in an arena of death." I can't work out whether he's being sarcastic or not, which is slightly creepy. He turns away from me. I wait a few more minutes, before giving in and trying to start a conversations again.

"I'm Merlyn, by the way." I mutter, trying my best to sound friendly as I stretch out my hand towards Echo, who sits hunched over in his wheelchair, an unnerving smile crossing his features.

"I know," He mutters back, a glint in his eye, "The Mayor called your name out, remember. Listen next time." I force a smile, trying to stay as pleasant as I can. "Now, why're you suddenly talking to me when before you were glaring lasers every time I opened my mouth?" I sigh again. I might as well tell him.

"Look." I groan, "I'm looking for allies and I thought maybe..."

"Not interested." He cuts across me, his face wrinkling up in disgust at the very thought, "Look Mer, can I call you Mer?"

"No." I snarl under my breath, my knuckles turning white and my nails dig into the skin in my palms as my fists clench. The idiot either doesn't hear me or ignores me, because he continues on unabashed.

"I mean, your cute Mer and I like your attitude, but, thing is, I don't need your help, toots. In fact you'd probably just die as soon as some big scary Career came along. I don't need a chick like you." He gives a cocky little laugh and my anger flares up, consuming like a fireball. I lash out, scooping up a pillow and throw it head long at his face. He snickers, as if expecting something to come out of nowhere and block the blow. Whatever he thought was going to happen though doesn't, and the pillow catches him on the side of the head. It's not exactly a powerful blow, but the shock of it seems to knock the wind out of him, and it certainly knocks that stupid smile off his face!

"Don't need help?" I bellow at him, "You can't walk! How can you not need help?" The boy looks at me, scooping up the remote and turning on the TV. Claudius yammers away on all channels, recaping the Reapings as the final pair of Tributes (District Twelve's and both easily older than me), stomp off the stage.

"I didn't say I don't need help." Echo mutters. There's an odd quality to his voice. It's darker than the last time he spoke, more serious. "I said I don't need help from you. I have something to prove, and no chick is gonna take credit for looking after me just because I can't walk. I'm getting through this on my own steam! Got that?" I nod slowly, before turning to watch the highlights of the Reapings passing before my eyes. There's a guy in pinstripe and a fedora from One, a lanky girl with a glint in her eye from two, another girl standing, quivering on the train as it pulls away from District Three, a shorter boy who speaks in a really old style from District Four. The list of tributes parading past goes on and on. Gang members, teen moms, blind girls, big, silent guys, two psychos who pick fights with Peacekeepers. The list goes on and on. And I know, sitting on a train speeding towards the Capitol, that I'm heading into a war.

And not one of those kids looks like they want to help me.

* * *

><p><em>Xiomara Bellum, age 15<em>

I remember meeting Cesse Pete a few years, or maybe it was months, ago at a party which my Mom was hosting. He was a nice kid who looked a bit like a ferret and spent half of the night dancing with all the girls and the other half listening to me, which is nice beause people often don't listen to me. Except for Sherrie, but she's my friend, so that's her job. After the party he gave me my number and told me to keep in touch. Then he fainted. I sent him texts every day, with interesting bits of information about faked moon landings and other countries beyond the waves in Ancient Europe, that the government know exist but keep quiet about, but he never replied. And then, just when I was starting to think that he was some sort of robot created to talk to me at a party, I bump into him in a crowd, fully sober and slightly more boring than last time, but still fun to talk to. A couple of minutes ago Cesse was chosen to go and watch the Games. He swaggered through those big golden gates in front of me with his head, not to mention tail and whiskers, held high. I liked that tail, it was really smooth and soft, kind of like a feather duster except made of fur and not so tickly. Now he's gone and I don't have anything to do, except wander around and wait for the next name to be called, and that's not really that big a draw to me. Really the thing that interests me the most about the Games is the fact that Dad works as a camera man on it. And the Victors are pretty interesting too I guess.

I really wish I could go with Dad like I did last year and sit on the desk and watch the Games through his cameras. It's always great fun to watch the Escorts silly acts first hand and tell the young Avox who serves the coffee about the Districts and the secret under-empire that stretches from one to the other that was built during the reign of President Coin. Sometimes, if I was good, Dad lets me have a look through the X-Ray camera to see if the tributes are trying to smuggle any weapons onto the train. Last year Dad made up anagrams for all the Victors that described their personalities, and then we all tried to guess who would win before anyone was actually Reaped! I would have done that all this year too but, sadly, I woke up late, and Dad said there just wasn't time for me to get washed and dressed before he went, so I had to come down here and stand in the crowd. It's not all bad though. I got to meet Cesse again, for one, and his tail was nice and soft, which sort makes up for the fact he hasn't got an X-Ray camera. Or at least I don't think he has an X-Ray camera. I'll ask him next time I see him.

My attention is quickly turned as Vato Voltaire climbs back onto the stage, looking slightly white.

"I'M SORRY FOR THE SLIGHT DELAY EVERYONE!" Vato booms. How does he get his voice all loud like that? Maybe he uses voice steroids. "I'M AFRAID THERE WERE SOME COMPLICATIONS REGARDING YOUNG CESSE PETE!" I am instantly alert, my purple eyes widen and my mouth opens in a grin of delight. Complications! That's code word for conspiracy theory! I really, really, really need to look into that soon. Maybe Sherrie can tell me something about it, she's a clever girl after all. "SO WITHOUT FURTHER ADO!" I'd forgotten Vato was up there for a second. I turn my attention back to him just in time to miss the name they call out. Ah well, I'll ask Dad who it was later,

"Xio!" A voice calls from the crowd, and I turn to see Sherrie rushing towards me, her eyes and hair the same vibrant blue as ever, dressed in what looks like some sort of school uniform, except I don't think our teachers would let us wear so many spikes on our shoulders, or cut holes in the side from just under the sleeves to the waist, or make the whole thing out of an odd transluscent material. Lousy dictators, I'd really like to wear something like that too! "Xio! Hey over here!" I am about to ask what the heavy book she's waving in the air is, when she crashes into me, knocking me to the ground and causing me to miss the next name that Vato calls out. My earings jangle together as I roll onto my back, pulling myself up and then helping Sherrie up along with me.

"Hey Sherrie," I giggle, quickly reading the girl's palm as I help to her feet. Yeah, I know some people say palm reading is crazy, but they just can't do it. I can, and I'm awesome at it! "Oo, bad day. Sorry about that. Hey, what's the book about?"

"Freeking Awesome." Sherrie mumbles, "I've read almost the whole thing and there's nothing about him getting raised by wolves. I knew you were lying." I frown, stung by the insult.

"Lying? I wasn't lying, that books just been doctored by the Capitol Intelligence Agency!"

"Why? It makes no logical sense for them to doctor that!" Sherrie groans, exassperated, before quickly changing the subject. "Anyway, weren't you supposed to be with your Dad today?"

"Woke up late." I shrug, "I'll go next year." Sherrie nods and I smile at her, about to say something insightful about mice being the most intelligent species on the earth and the rightful heirs of the planet (which I know is true, I've read it!), when Sherrie grips me by the shoulders and turns me to look at Vato, who has just said another name.

"XIOMARA BELLUM!" Vato roars, "WE'VE JUST BEEN GIVEN THE NAME XIOMARA BELLUM! CONGRATULATIONS XIOMARA, YOU'RE THE CAPITOL GUEST OF DISTRICT TEN!"

No way. I'm going to the Games? And I thought these things were rigged!

I'm kind of neutral to the Hunger Games. I mean, I don't love it, and I know there are supposed to be all those moral guardians who don't like it but, really, I don't see why. It's just like a normal Gameshow. If you win you get loads of prizes. If you lose you go to a better place. Unless you were a really, really, really bad in which case you go somewhere else, but then you probably deserved to die in the Games so I don't think it really matters. Anyway, where was I?

"Wahoo!" I shout, bouncing up and down as Sherrie pushes me forwards, introduces me to the guards on the gate and shoves me through, "Look out Cesse Pete, I'm coming after you!"

The gates slam closed behind me and, almost immediately, the crowd is pushed back away from the gates again and a short, crooked man with very little hair and a nervous twitch steps forward. He introduces himself as Thebes Horrors, an envoy for the President, and I vaguely remember something about him being an Escort a couple of years ago.

"It's nice to have someone who came down today to be picked," Thebes mutters, his voice low and morose as grips my hand and shakes it. "The only kids who have done that are the really rich one's who have private boxes and the loyal fans like you. Most kids expect us to just come and collect them. It's lazy I tell you." I nod, trying to read his palm as he turns to walk away. All I get is that he's stressed, which I think I could have guessed, and I fall in behind him, listening to him mutter as he leads me down lavishly carpeted hall after lavishly carpeted hall. We walk quickly, with him occasionally mumbling things about how lucky I am and how I'm going to get a chance to meet the tributes and see what life is like for them on their path to either death or glory, until we arrive at a really nice room with a big chandelier, several marble statues and a few small tables with seats around them. "The other guests will arrive shortly," Thebes groans, "There's a party in their honour at the Presidents mansion. They will arrive once that's ended." I nod, and try to thank the man, but he quickly shuts the door in my face and hurries down the corridor. It's like he's scared of something. Bad luck probably. I forgot I'm still wearing my bad luck deflecting earings. He probably didn't want to catch any of my bad luck.

Apart from me, and a large variety of servants and Avoxes, there are only two people in the room. Cesse, who appears to be unconscious and an older girl with what appears to be golden skin. She smiles at me as I come near, rubbing Cesse's arm.

"Hi." She says, giving off the immediate impression of a party animal who is not only just very, very drunk, but also quite used to getting very, very drunk. "Welcome to the party! Well, not the party, obviously, I was just at that but, whatever!" She bursts out into a drunken giggle and I flip out a tarot card from my pocket. It's a formality for me to check someone's future when I meet them, and tarot cards are always the most reliable. I quickly inspect the card. Skeleton dude with a scythe? Nasty.

"I'd lay off the drink if I were you," I inform her quite kindly, "The card says your not in for a good future if you carry like this." The girl giggles again, rummaging around in her handbag and pulling out a soda bottle, which I'm almost certain has some form of alcohol in it. She downs the drink, giggling even louder and turning her attention to Cesse.

"What about him then?" She giggles, "He's younger than me and he stinks of drink. You know that kind that, like, blots your memory and stuff," I shake my head, "Yeah, well he smells like that!" He strokes his arm and her face softens, "Poor little mite. I was fourteen when I first had that stuff. It's nice but it messes up your head pretty bad." I nod, trying to pretend I know what this girl's talking about. As far as I'm concerned though she's pretty obviously crazy. I decide to change the subject to something more interesting.

"My Dad's ne of the cameramen." I smile, "They gave all the staff a couple of extra slips for their kids and Dad put all of mine in the District 10 ball. He must be so pleased that I won." The girl nods, the drunken smile on her face showing me that she is paying far more attention to the tatoos on my stomach and my purple and yellow hair than she is to what I'm saying. I carry on regardless, it's good just to get what I'm saying out there. "District 10 isn't actually a District you know. It' too spread out and it doesn't have any walls or fences. It just has desert. So it's actually just a big group of villages which all work for Panem and all do the same thing." The girl nods, and I stiffen suddenly as Cesse's tail twitches in his sleep, rubbing against my leg. The other girl breaks into giggles again and I smile. She seems nice, but I have no idea what she's laughing about. It's probably just because she's drunk. Cesse moans a little in his sleep and the girl giggles even more, falling off her chair and crashing onto the floor.

"Owww." She whines, getting to her feet and rubbing the back of her head in pain. I've decided something. I'm the only sane person here. I think it's kind of sad that I have to be the voice of reason. I smile slightly, flicking away Cesse's tail as the boy begins to stir. I just remembered, I don't think I've ever read his future. I draw another tarot card from my pocket. A spiral and a clock? That's something to do with time isn't it. I guess I'll ask Mom when I get back home.

"Wuh-wuh-what's happening..." Cesse groans, lifting his head off of the table and staring around "Ah, my head. W-was there a party last night?"

"Probably." The other girl grins, toppling onto the table as she tries to sit down.

"Y-your Xio-Xiomara right?" Cesse mutters, as though he's trying to remember something, "Did I get knocked out or something. And why am in your pajamas."

"You were camping out," I tell him, "Apparently you walked into a pipe or something. You'd just been chosen as a guest for the Games. I think you were kind of happy."

"Was I supposed to be remembering something..."

"I don't think so."

"No," Cesse clutches his head and catches a whisker on his hand, causing him to leap up and give a little yelp, which makes the girl on the table laugh again. "No, there was something I had to remember. It was something... something important." I nod, this sounds interesting. I must remind myself to ask about that later.

"Hey Cesse?"

"Yeah?" Cesse groans, picking a couple of ice cubes out of a bowl and stuffing it into his mouth. Weird. I guess it's some sort of ritual to deal with a hangover. I wouldn't know, I don't drink. Much. Alcohol shrinks your brain you know.

"Did you know that Claudius Templesmith has changed his hair exactly ninety three times over the course of his life. He actually managed to avoid capture when President Coin took power by letting his hair turn its natural colour, changing his name and finding employment under Coin herself." Cesse groans, unable to take in so many words so quickly. He clutches his head and sighs.

"Okay..." He winces as I reel off a long list of facts about the Hunger Games, all stored inside my head from whenever I heard them.

"Hey, hey Cesse?"

"Yeah..." Cesse sighs, by this point tweaking his whiskers for some reason.

"Does your camera have an X-Ray function?"

* * *

><p><strong>AN:** Question of the Day: What would you put in an Arena?


	12. D11: Crop circles

A/N: A belated merry Christmas to all my readers, and I'm glad to tell you that the Reapings, which have been becoming increasingly difficult to write as I've gone along, are almost at an end. Today the tributes that appear were created by Skgirl4ever, akatrixie and Freedom of Thought. This may be a rather long Reapings, but a lot of effort went into it, so I'm relatively certain you'll enjoy it, although certain sections may drag a bit. May I add that it's good to be back now that Christmas is over and I look forward to getting to the actual story once these Reapings are over.

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**Distrct Eleven  
><strong>

* * *

><p><em>Allina Wheats, age 17<em>

I never knew my father. I don't know who he was or anything about him. Heck, I don't even know what he looked like Well, OK, that's a lie. I know his name and I have pictures. I have the letters that mum wrote to him when he was off on the other side of the District in harvesting times, and I have what my brother can tell me about 'the Bastard'. But I don't know anything about him personally.

It's my own fault really, that daddy ran away. It can't be because of my mum. They both seem so happy in all of mum's letters. He loved my mother, I'm sure of it. Every time I ask she says he was a really sweet guy who loved her and loved my brother and there was never any trouble, but that can't be it.

Some people say it's because he couldn't deal with a kid, but that can't be it either. He managed with my older brother, Digg, and he left just before I was born. So it must have been me. I ripped this family apart. I made daddy leave and then mum got depressed and my big brother went all angry and protective of me and just works and works and never comes home.

Our family was ruined because the breadwinner wasn't there to look after us. I ruined our family, and I am going to make sure that something like that doesn't happen again. I want to help with every fibre of my being, with every resource I can bring to bear. I don't want to feel useless anymore. I don't want to see the family of Scratch Standards, the District Eleven guy who died in the Hunger Games last year, suffer.

Scratch Standard is another person I never knew. OK, well that's a lie too. Daddy must have known I was going to be a lier. No wonder he left.

I knew Scratch a long time ago, back when we were both just kids going to school together. He was a caring guy and very good looking at that, or at least I thought so. He was the nicest boy I'd ever met (other than Digg). I trusted him utterly. I told him all my secrets and I knew he'd never tell anyone. He didn't care that I didn't have a daddy, or that my mum was always working, or that Digg always collected me from school and glared at every kid who came near me. He knew Digg was only trying to protect me, and he respected that. Scratch Standards was wonderful, and the pair of us were inseperable. We spent the happy days of our youth, back before we realised what the Games were, playing together in the school playground. Running around, throwing nuts at passers by and generally pranking people.

That all changed when Scratch's dad got injured back when I was six and he left school to work. I remember crying for hours when I heard he wasn't going to be going to school with me anymore and kissing him on the cheek on the last day. He said he wouldn't forget me and that he'd keep in contact, but I never heard anything after that, he was always too busy working.

He mostly forgot about me after that. I continued with my school and he with his work. He grew tall and handsome, and he learnt to look after his younger siblings, while I just became useless. I saw him in the fields a few times, practicing with makeshift spears with his shirt off. I would sometimes skip lessons to go down to the fields and watch him practice his spear, but I never built up the courage to go down and talk to him. I only built up the courage to see him one last time on the day he was sent to die. I visited him at his goodbyes. I told him how sad I was he was going. I cried, I kissed him. He smiled and he was pleasant, but he didn't recognise me. He was still my Scratch, but I wasn't his Allina.

Well that's the history according to Allina Wheats, and where does all that leave me? Sitting on the ground in front of a kid named Lourta Standards, that's where.

"Now," I smile comfortingly, spreading the cards out in front of me, "Which of these are vowels?"

The girl looks at the twenty four cards I have layed in front of her, a mix of letters, capitals and lower case in a variety of different styles. She looks at them long and hard, before tentatively picking one up.

"No, Lourta," I sigh, plucking the card from her hand and pocketing it, "That's an 'M'" The girl tries anohter, "That's a 'K'" Another one flies up for my approval, "C. You haven't practiced at all this week have you?" The girl shakes her head as I select the correct letters from the pile and pass them over to her.

"It's not my fault I can't read." Lourta pouts, and I giggle, "No one ever taught me."

"I'm trying to teach you," I sigh, "You just don't want to learn."

"Well there isn't time is there?" The girl groans, "Not with all the slack I've had to pick up since, well, you know..." She trails off and I smile as gently as I can, patting her on the head and then beginning the next exercise. She's got her brother's spirit, Lourta. She's a strong worker and she tries to learn, she's just not very good at it.

We sit together for the next few hours, working through the exercises as quickly as I can before the sun comes up, at which point voices begin to sound from outside the field, and Lourta slinks off, joining her younger brother, who is calling her to come in and get changed.

"Thank you teacher." The girl chimes in exactly the same way all the kids I teach always do when they leave. I don't know why they do that, it makes me feel old actually.

"Thank you teacher?" A figure snorts from over in the corner and I turn to see Kio Liccio standing by a tree, chewing gum.

"Hey," I snap, resting my hands on the tree, "It shows they respect me." Kio chuckles, turning away and shaking his head.

"Sure." He mutters, his voice little more than a croak, "Or maybe that's all you are to them." He's right, but I don't want him to know it, so I turn away, brushing my hand up and down tree, stroking its curves, feeling the hard bark under my soft palm.

The tree is special to me. It brings back lots of memories. I was hiding in it, watching Scratch practice when I first met Kio. A bully, a smoker and a druggie, Kio wasn't a nice guy back then, by any stretch of the imagination, but, for some reason, we still got talking. Well, we got talking after he knocked me out of the tree and lit some sort of weird cigarette. He's come along way since we first sat under that big tree, talking about our problems, the tragedies we caused and the dreams we have which will never be fulfilled. He's come off the drugs and the cigarettes, but he's now reliant on bubblegum. He chews it literally all the time.

As we stand in the rising sun, listening to bird song and the sound of crops rustling in the wind, a bell rings out across the fields and Kio stiffens up.

"Reapings." Kio hacks, turning to me and gripping my hand in his own. His nails are yellowy, but they're getting better and his palm is sweaty, but that's just withdrawl symptoms. It's actually a good sign with Kio, at least he doesn't smell of smoke. "Time to go Allina." The boy sniffs, before realising what I'm actually wearing and breaking into a shaky coughing fit.  
>"What?" I ask, staring down at the shabby blue pajamas that cover me. They're about a size too small, and I'm not wearing any shoes or gowns but, then again, this is District Eleven. It rains a lot, but not at this time of year, and it's warm, so pajamas are the ideal clothing for before dawn teaching sessions.<p>

"It's not exactly smart Reaping clothing, is it?" Kio asks, his eyebrows perched on his head like a vulture, peering down at its prey.

"Hey!" I retort, "I can change into something smarter and then go to the Reapings."

"Smarter?" The boy chokes on his laughter, accidently swallowing his gum before reaching into his pocket, lifting out another stick and popping it in his mouth. "Yeah. There's ten minutes to go and an twenty minutes to your lot. Even if you run you ain't gonna be able to get there an' back. At least not with any clothes on you!" He gives a coarse laugh and punches me on the shoulder, rather too hard. I fall to the ground and Kio gives a shout of surprise, ducking to my aid. He lifts me on his shoulders, beginning to head towards the Reaping lot, but trips after only a few steps, toppling over and falling into the dirt.

All this time I try to keep a straight face, but when I finally make it to my feet, there's a big smile spread over my face and when I laugh, Kio laughs. He laughs his husky, heavy, interrupted laugh and the shattered sound finds its way into my ear and tickles my brain until I can't stop laughing.

It takes us a while to get our act together, but when we do we make it to the Reaping lot spectacularly fast, jogging as though our life depends on it. I'm an OK runner, though not too fast, but Kio has trouble. He may not be putting anything into his body anymore except for gum, but he's still not a runner. Not with his lungs.

We arrive just before the Mayor starts speaking, which is lucky because it means we aren't subjected to the beating that the Peacekeepers dish out to the late kids behind us. I feel kind of sorry for them and I feel even worse when I recognise Lourta Standards in the poor group. I turn back to try and stop the Peacekeeper, shouting out to him and waving my arms frantically, but a hand reaches out and stops me, slamming me to the ground.

"Don't." Kio wheezes, dragging me through the crowd, "There's nothing you can do."

The speech is long and boring and my eyes wander as the mayor drones on and on. I spot Lourta, rubbing her leg where the Peacekeepers had struck as she makes her way into the crowd. She's actually coped really well with her brothers death last year, and the family still laughs and goes on like nothing happens. I can tell I still need to help her though. She may act ordinary enough, but she's still damaged. I can tell a damaged family when I see one. It's a family that's the same as mine.

She looks sadder than usual today as well, and not just because of the beating. It's the day her big brother stopped protecting her, the day he had to go away to die and there was nothing little Lourta could do. He left before she got to really know him, just like my father did. I place my hand on my chest, as the sombre, blue green haired Escort of our District makes her way to the stage, and make a pledge that, no matter what happens, I'll be there for the family of whoever goes to the Games this year. Just like I was there for the Standards. No matter who it is, I'll make sure to help their family in any way they can.

"Allina Wheats?" A voice chimes over the crowd and I turn to the stage. "Is there an Allina Wheats here?" My body stiffens as the crowd explodes around me, hollering and baying for blood just like they always do when anyone gets Reaped (Really its a wonder that the Capitol manages to keep order here at all). My brother Digg reaches out from the sidelines, catching a Peacekeeper on the nose as the only person who I can't protect from the Games makes her way to the stage. Me.

A few minutes later, after the crowd settles down, another name is called. Hallan Seifross or something. I stare down at the crowd as the boy makes his way up, watching my mother weep from the sidelines, my brother being dragged, kicking and roaring in defiance, away from the Peacekeeper he had been bludgeoning. Lourta and Kio stare up at me, the formers eye's misty, tears forming in them, the latters eyes ringed and full of pain. He's twitching slightly and I look away as I sense the pain in him.

Just one thought surges through my head as Hallan, a short, tanned boy, grips my hand and shakes.

I promised I'd help the families of whoever was Reaped, and that was me. I have to help my own family.

And the only way I can help my family is to make it back home. Make it back alive.

* * *

><p><em>Hallan Seifross, age 16<em>

The Lots of District Eleven aren't nice places to work. They're vast fields, filled with brambles and brittle corn where baggy eyed children toiling endlessly under burning sun or pouring rain. They're even worse places to live. The only accomadation to be found are a group of shabby, run down shacks, where we allowed to retreat after a long day of harvesting to eat the thick stew and rock hard bread they give us, along with what few vermin we have managed to trap and to pluck the needle like stings of the weeds and the bees from our legs. We eak out our existence as best we can and in turn we're expected to dedicate our lives to our Lot. To the machine that keeps us breaking our backs, and sacrifices our children yearly to keep us down.

And yet somehow our family has survived to my sister's first Reaping day. There are five of us sat huddled around the rough wooden table in the pitiful two room shack in which we live, although only four of us are related, me, my parents and my little sister, Menk. The fifth figure is Fanden, a tall, dark skinned boy who sits on the floor, his face buried in the thick slice of grained toast that my mother has given him. He doesn't really seem like talking, which is to be expected I guess, but his eyes still twinkle as he stares at me through his dark, matted hair. He's not exactly a talker, Fanden, at least not when there's anyone else around, so we've got a lot in common. Like I said, despite our similarly quiet nature, he's not a relation, just a friend, but for some reason he's always here at the moment I wake up, already scoffing the meal my mum makes for him without a word to me, before the two of us head out to work. My mum says its something to do with his family, apparently they're not very close, in fact I don't think I've ever seen either of his parents before, so he always seemed to wind up at our doorstep, until dad would just unlock it the moment he got up to make sure Fanden wouldn't be waiting for too long.

"So," my mum begins, finishing her meal and beginning to tidy up her plates so she can take them down to the pump before the Reapings start to clean them, "You guys got any plans for after the Reapings?"

I shrug, "Not really, it's Reapings, so I guess I won't be working. Might go hang out with the guys sometime, visit another Lot, maybe go for a jog, nothing amazing." This is always how mum starts the day. She asks us what we plan on doing and then tells us whether or not we're allowed. It's a good system, but it takes a lot of trust. We screw up and do something wrong and she'll forgive us, but if we disobey her, we can expect to be worked into the ground for the next few days to make up for it.

For some reason the question causes Menk some discomfort though, and she squirms in her seat, picking at her foot in distraction. I guess she's just scared because it's her first Reapings. I remember being there, all those years ago.

"What about you Fanden?" My father chuckles, flashing a smile at the boy opposite who has almost become a son to him in the past twelve years he's known him.

"Dunno, Sir," Fanden says, his face set in the same wistful expression that besets it whenever anyone actually adresses him kindly, something that apparently doesn't happen very often in his own family. "Probably just gonna hang around with Hal, do whatever he does, 'slong as I ain't been Reaped that is! That'd be a real dampner." My parents and I both chuckle and Fanden grins widely. I know it seems bad to joke about the Games like this but, to be honest, the Games don't play that big a part in District Eleven. Sure they're horrible and I pity the guys who get Reaped every year, but it's just a part of life. Like the work and the vicious Peacekeepers, the Games are just something that everyone has to live with and do their best to ignore, no matter what happens.

My sister doesn't seem to be living with it though, in fact she actually gives a yelp when Fanden makes that joke, leaping up from her chair and drawing all eyes to her.

"How can you joke about that?" Menk squeaks, and Fanden sighs, getting up and ruffling her hair.

"Sorry sis." He mumbles, hanging his head, "Bad taste. Thought you'd be used to it by now."

"Used to it?" Menk wimpers, gripping Fanden's shirt and suddenly sounding much more scared than appaled, "It's my first year!" It's a good point, but it's not like she didn't know this was coming. She's had years to prepare for the possibility of being Reaped. "How can I be used to it?"

"Menk." I sigh, reaching out to her and gently prising her shaking fingers off of Fanden, "There's really nothing to be scared about. You've only got one slip."  
>"Yeah, but what if they chose it?" Menk whispers, her eyes brimming with tears. I've never really known my sister to be this prone to mood swings, maybe she never really thought about the Games before now. I guess it's hard when the Games creep up on you like this. I wouldn't know, I had my freak out over the Games when I was nine, and far too young to be in any danger.<p>

"They won't choose you." I reassure her, patting her on the shoulder as I rise to my feet, "The odds are tiny. If anything they're going to choose Fanden or me." The girl stiffens in fear and I smile, "Hey, don't worry, we can take them. We're District Eleven. We're born tough." She doesn't seem to feel much better, but it doesn't look like she's going to cry.

"Look," Fanden finally says, "Me and Hal are going down to the Reaping Lot now. You want you can come with, might make you feel better." The girl nods silently and the two of us take her by the hand and lead her out the door and onto the thin dirt paths, which are already filled with teens, trickling out of the Lot early while their parents and younger siblings stay behind to finish up, before heading down later.

The dirt is hard on our ankles, flicking up and slashing at them like tiny scythes, but it's worse on Menk's frock, staining the perfect white of the only new piece of clothing our family has a ruddy red. She doesn't notice as we make our way out of the Lot, too busy recounting her worries to me to care, but I can see Fanden grimace behind her, and squeeze her left hand in agitation. The frock was a present he bought my sister for her last birthday, which was only a few months ago, and it was a purchase he was exceptionally proud of. In fact the tall boy, standing about a head and shoulders above me, seems more worried about the frock than he does about the Games, which I think is kind of stupid. Although I'm not particulatly afraid of the Games, since I've already survived several and am confident of my chances should I ever actually be Reaped, even I will admit that the Hunger Games are more important than a present I bought for my mate's sister. I suppose it isn't entirely unexpected though since Fanden is sort of weird like that sometimes and he doesn't really have the same priorities as most guys.

"Watch the dress sis," Fanden warns, using his pet name for Menk as we make our way down the street. My sister winces, looking down at the big red stains all over the front of the frock. She gives a groan and I pat her on the back.

"Don't worry kid, that stuffs gonna happen. Just bad luck."

"Yeah," she sighs dejectedly, "With luck like this I'm bound to end up in the Games."

"You walked into that one." Fanden comments, swinging the tiny girl up onto his shoulders, "There, problem solved." The girl nods sadly, looking around at the other teens marching ritualistically down to the Games, chatting as they walk. Fanden stares at me, pleading me to say something, anything, that might actually make my sister feel better.

I do the best I can, but when the three of us finally make it to the Reaping Lot, everyone feels sort of miserable.

There's no crying though, which is good. Menk seems to have finally got over her earlier panic attack, and now she just seems tired, like all she wants to do is go home and curl up in bed.

We settle into our places, which thankfully aren't too far from each other, although I can't see Menk, on account of both of us being slightly short for our age, and thus disappearing into a crowd of other, taller, teens.

We're by no means the first here, in fact there's already quite crowd assembled in front of the

thick wooden stage, but we still have to wait a good ten minutes in perfect silence before the Mayor steps on stage. Our stripy haired Escort, Minty, who seems to be the cause of the delay, and our most recent Victor, the rather odd Cyrian Delfont follow the man, each of them beaming down at the audience with rather too large grins. Even though I can't see her, I can gaurantee that my sister flinches as the paper thin Victor regards his audience, his eyes flashing as they pass over the twelve year old's sections, his smile becoming even less human. He's tutoring this year, just like every year and, bizarrely, he didn't need to be forced. He volunteered to train. Somehow that makes me very, very worried for whoever gets Reaped this year.

The last few dregs slip into the Lot as the Mayor steps up to his microphone, accompanied by my parents, who smile encouragingly and wave to my sister, mouthing to her that she has nothing to be worried about. Up on the stage the Mayor begins to read the Treaty, running out the same dead Capitolist propaganda that we have to sit through every year. He groans on and on about the Dark Days, the First Hunger Games Treaty, the Coin Uprising, the Second Hunger Games Treaty. I hear this every year and, to be honest, I've given up caring. Why should I? I hear this every year and I'm not even remotely interested any more. I used to at least enjoy the bits about Coin and the Capitol Games because it was a good commupence for them making us do this but, now that I'm older, it all just seems so hollow.

The mayor gives a quick speech before stepping to the side to allow our over zealous Escort to bound up to the stage, still frantically applying makeup to her face with seemingly no concern for the fact that her dress appears to be half missing and fitted with so much wire that almost everyone on the first few rows of the crowd can see her underwear. It's Capitol fasion so I guess I just don't understand, but I would think she'd be at least a bit embarassed by such an overly revealing costume.

"Good morning my lovely little citizens of Panem!" The woman cries, and the entire crowd fixes her with a glare, "How are we all today?" Bored. Tired. Angry at you for thinking we'd be happy to drag ourselves out of bed just so we can come down here and watch some of our friends be dragged off to die. Take your pick. "Super!" Minty crows, somehow managing to pronounce the punctuation with her mud thick Capitol accent, "Shall we see which of you wonderful girls will be gracing the boys of the Capitol with her beautiful presence? Good!"

This is stupid, she's treating us like kids. I might actually be able to tolerate the Escorts a bit more if they weren't all such a bunch of idiotic jerks!

Minty smiles down at the girls, flashing a radient pair of over whitened teeth as she reaches down inside the big glass ball and draws out a name. In front of me my sister and the rest of the twelve year old section stiffen in terror, but the rest of the crowd don't seem to be paying all that much attention, save for a few girls who still haven't got used to the fact that they have to do this every year and should really just take it as it comes.

"Allina Wheats?" Nobody moves, Minty gives a sigh and licks her teeth nervously, people are supposed to react when they're Reaped. It's not good if people ignore the Escort, it shows that we're not afraid, that we don't care any more and that they can't keep us down. "Is there an Allina Wheats here?" A girl in the section behind me jolts to attention, looking around her in complete dismay.

Or maybe it doesn't mean they're rebelious, maybe they're just some scatter brained idiot!

The girl walks up to the stage as the crowd roar in fury. She's not bad looking, but she's nothing special and she most certainly doesn't look like she can survive too long once the Games start, especially not with Delfont tutoring her in to oblivion. The Escort smiles as the Allina stands rigidly on the stage, she rests her hand on the girls shoulder and beams down at the crowd.

"Wonderful. And now let's see which of you lucky boys will have the pleasure of gracing little Allina here with hiss presence!" She reaches into the second Reaping ball and grips a name, lifting it up and inspecting it in the daylight. The majority of the boys hold their breath, but neither me or Fanden are all that worried. If we do get Reaped we'll make our plans once it happens and if not? There's really no point to spending your entire life planning your death unless you live in a Career District, which we most certainly do not.

"Hallan Seifross! Congratulations!"

Damn.

My eyes flick from Fanden to Menk and back again as I slowly make my way up to the stage. Menk's crying, her head buried in a friends lap as she shrieks that she knew something bad was going to happen, that she had a feeling but that I didn't listen. Fanden just looks stunned, like he can't quite grasp what's happening. He doesn't look teary eyed, but he seems to be shaking uncontrollably. It's almost interesting really, how different people react to someone being taken away from them, knowing there's nothing they can do. I can't bear to look at my parents. I don't want to see their faces.

Minty rests a hand on my shoulder as I step on stage, pressing my hand into Allina's. I grip it tightly and shake, but there isn't any warmth in the greeting.

It's really nothing personal. I don't hate this girl, not anymore than any other girl in the world. I've never even met her before for God's sake! How could I hate her?

I don't hate her, but I can't like her. Not that I don't want to, but I literally can't. I can't like her or the Careers or anyone else I meet from now on.

It's nothing personal, but I've got to make it back to my family and I've got to do it alone.

No way in hell am I gonna be coming back in a box.

* * *

><p><em>Pebble Clarkson, age 15<em>

Girls are something I will never understand. I know all sorts of stuff about plants and animals and I can tell how a dog's feeling from how it looks and stuff and I've read all sorts of books on biology, which is pretty much the only subject I get, but I've never understood chicks and I don't think I ever will.

Perfect example, Flora, my girlfriend, not the plantlife. She's a sweet chick, kind of short and freckly with a cute face. She's got lumenescent hair with little light up extensions in it and lots of little light up jewels implanted all over her body which look like little blue fireflies when it gets dark. She's pretty much everything I'd ever want in a girl but, like every girl in the world, I have absolutely no idea what she's thinking.

Today she's been really miserable for some reason. She's been nothing but miserable ever since I got up this morning, having spent the night on her couch after a particularly long romance movie she made me sit through and a couple of goes on Hunger Games Online, both of which ended with my virtual tribute being decapitated in the Bloodbath by some jerk. We've been shopping for the past hour but, no matter what signals she's giving off, whenever I get close or wrap an arm around her she just brushes me off and says she's having 'a bad day'. I can't see how, she's not hungover, no ones died and, unlike me, she doesn't have stomach cramps because she ate too much last night. As far as I can tell she's doing fine.

"What is wrong with you, dude?" I ask Flora as I stretch over her to my drink. She doesn't answer, so I decide to press the issue, "Seriously Flo', what's bugging you?" She shakes her head.

"Why the heck would you care?" Flora snaps, and I'm sent reeling by the mere force of her retort.

"Ah come on Flo', peace," I mutter, "I just wanna know what's the matter with you!"

"Well you aren't going to find out," the girl mutters,the bulbs in her skin flaring violently and illuminating her freckles in a dusty blue.

You have to understand my Flo isn't normally like this. She's normally a cutesy girl, real nice and sweet, but today, for some reason, she seems really bummed out. It's not normal for her and it's kind of starting to annoy me too. I mean sure, be sad, but there's no reason to be so grouchy, especially when you don't have anything wrong with you. Besides, if she won't even tell me what's wrong with her, how am I supposed to turn her frown round the right way.

I bet Nathaniel's finding this hilarious. My only real friend other than Flora, the boy sits at the other end of a brightly coloured plastic table, a big grin fixed on his pale blue, unnaturally smooth face. Stupid shark boy, laughing at my pain. It's not funny I tell you, it's just nots! I don't really know why I bought him along actually, since he hasn't bought anything, isn't eating anything from the snack bar and is being absolutely no help with Flora but hey, we social outcasts have got to stick together, haven't we. And he was with me last night to watch that stupid movie with its obnoxious pretty boy lead and cookie cuter pretty girl. On top of it all, I'm pretty sure he has absolutely no idea what's the matter with Flora either. She hasn't even touched the couissant I bought her and her eyes keep wandering over to the other tables, where a group of dudes in their twenties sit, brushing their hair and chomping through their food at a mile a minute. For a minute I think that might be the problem, and that she might be giving goo goo eyes to one of the cool kids, with their tattoos, brightly coloured hair and their toned muscles, but then one of them whistles at one of the waitresses and Flora snarls at them in disgust and turns away, staring out the window with that same wistful smile as she regards the spread out city below with all its skyscrapers, flats and cars. Come to think of it I should know that Flora wouldn't be going after guys, we've known each other for six years now and have been dating since we were ten and, in all that time, the only guy she's ever shown any interest in other than me is Nataniel, and even then only as a friend. Besides, there's no way she'd ever be able to get with one of those guys. They're the jocks, the cream of the Capitol crop. We're the losers of Panem, the outcasts, the nerds. None of those popular kids would want to go out with us, no matter how rich or powerful we got. Well, OK, maybe if we got rich enough they would go out with us, but it'd take a heck of a lot of money, that or an entire country.

As if to illustrate my point, the guys notice us as I am thinking and begin guffawing at us. Flora sigs and buries her head in her hands, her hair extensions flashing violently. I don't react though. I don't blame guys like them for not getting what I'm going for with the dark red hair shaped into the form of a rose or the dark green skin, dyed and then implanted with various swirls and twists. I'm designed to look like a great big flower, a rose to be exact. It sounds dumb I know but, like pretty much every enhancement anyone has in the Capitol, it has a reason. What, you think I'd get alterations I couldn't undo without being sure about it.

Biology's the only subject I've ever done at all well with at school, and making myself made me feel closer to the stuff I studied. I think. Actually now I look back, I don't know why I got those alterations. Guess they just looked cool at the time and I they didn't cost to much.

God I was an idiot when I was a kid.

Talking of idiot, one of the ones, a lanky jerk with hot pink hair, calls to the waitress, an unnaturally tall, wooden skinned woman with an aversion to her own hair, since she keeps trying to duck away from it. The twenty something year old lout makes a comment about the girls chest and asks her to turn on the TV, which covers most of the wall adjacent to the window out to the city, blaring sound across the cafe and setting my hair on end. For some reason the waitress doesn't seem too offended, and flashes a smile at the dude, kissing him on the cheek before grabbing the remote from some pocket in her uniform that seems to be made specially for it and skipping back behind the counter. Both Flora and the stern head of the cafe fix the girl with blood curdling glares and the girl gives a nervous giggle, waves to the guy and ducks out of the room. Either those two are a couple, or he's just really charismatic and I haven't noticed it yet. Seriously, you can get away with anything if you're good looking enough.

There are two things on as the guy flicks from page to page. There's the Hunger Games and a remake of some old vampire movie. Unfortunately both of them contain Anastasie Dallas, who I can't stand, but fortunately the bubblegum haired jock seems to agree that she sucks and turns to the channel where she doesn't talk.

Instead we get treated to Claudius Templesmith's massive grin pressed right up close to the camera.

"Welcome back Panem!" Claudius cheers and, for some reason, me, Nathaniel and Flora find ourselves cheering along with him, Flo's entire body breaking out in little flashes of blue light as little bulbs peel through her. I smile, sucking on the straw of my drink. It's good to see her returning to her natural, bubbly self. Unfortunately, it doesn't last, and the girl soon starts sulking again. "We still have one lucky boy and one lucky girl whose lives will be changed in a couple of minutes when their names are chosen from one of these two huge golden Reaping balls! They'll get the once in a lifetime chance to go down to the tributes tower, with the tributes, where they'll get the astounding opportunity to view the Games. First hand."

"Only got the two Reaping Balls left now I hear," Nathaniel whispers to me, a conspiratory smirk spread across his face, "One for the boys, one for the girls. I'm already out though, put all my slips in ball four, wanted to go with the Careers. You?"

"I've got some in Eleven." I smile. Really I'm not that bothered. I mean, I'd like to go to see the Games so close, but I'm fine with just staying home with Flo and Nathaniel, watching movies and laughing at popular music and the how stupid the tributes look with their weird fasions and funny hairstyles.

"Lucky." Nathaniel murmurs, fixing me with a large grin, "Fancy your chances?"

"Nah man," I respond, "Only got a couple of slips in there. I ain't holding out for a win."

"So you'll give me your two way pass to the Tributes Tower if you win?"

"God no. I'm keeping it if I get it," I say with a fierce smirk, "But I've only got, what, six slips? And thats only in one ball. I ain't gonna get in with only six slips."

"Only took Prim Everdeen one slip." Nathaniel snickers, "And her big sis changed the world." The table next to us stiffen at the mention of the name, turning and hissing at Nathaniel to shut up. "What? Ain't saying I like what she did, just saying she shook things up. If she didn't why would we still have the Hunger Games?" It's a good point, but Flora doesn't seem to get it, standing bolt upright, her hair flashing dangerously.

"Will you two just shut up!" She cries, the bulbs on her skin beginning to look more and more like a neon sign as they flash faster and faster, "Can't you see none of us stand a chance! The stupid things are rigged, we're not gonna win!"

"Says who Casino kid?" Nathaniel grins, causing me to wince slightly. Say what you like about my Flo, but no one has ever survived calling Flora a 'Casino'. At least not until today. I'll just pray that she spares him, since he's her friend.

Fortunately, Flora doesn't try to rip his head off, and in the ensuing silence, I decide to difuse the tension with a well timed cry of "Come on guys, peace."

"Says me shark boy." Ah man, this isn't going well. It could be worse though. Shark boy isn't that bad an insult and it doesn't normally annoy Nathaniel. Heck, even I call him it.

"I'm supposed to be a dolphin and you know it." Nathaniel growls.

"And I'm supposed to be a flower." Flora mutters. How the heck is that a flower? I still think it's closer to a lightbulb myself, "And anyway, the Reapings are rigged, how else do you explain Anastasie Dallas and The Orchid kid and Sculptor Fitch all getting places."

"Well what about the Avox?" Nathaniel retorts, "He got in and there's no way he bribed anyone!"

"You idiot." Flora smiles and her anger disappears into a smile so fast it makes my head spin. Like I said, I don't get girls. "He's working for Fitch, why do you think his name was even in the Reaping ball?"

"Damn." Nathaniel laughs, shaking his head, "So I was beat by a plant eh? You?"

"All of mine were in ball 1." Flora laughs, "I wanted to find out whether or not I'd win and I got screwed over by some drunk chick who looks like a bloody chandelier." I smile at that. I guess that was why she was mad then. Hey, maybe I'm really starting to get the hang of this. I don't blame her, it'd suck to get all out straight away.

"When did you find out, Flo'." I ask her and the girl shrugs.

"Early. About five in the morning I guess, just as the sun was coming out."

"Heavy." I say with a sad smile.

"Not really," The girl mumbles, a slight frown playing on her face, "Wouldn't want to go with a bunch of jerks like that anyway. Besides..." She's cut short as Nathaniel shushes her, turning to the TV and pointing silently at Claudius who is about to start speaking. Flora pouts, but she seems happier than she was earlier, which is good I guess.

"So." Claudius smiles from the screen, "The last lucky boy who will be going to see the Games is..." The scene on the screen cuts away, flashing over to District Eleven, where a short, tanned boy, who is apparently the new male tribute of District Eleven, flicks open an envelope and reads a name aloud. I prepare a sigh, ready to hear the name of the popular jerk who's going to beat me.

"Pebble Clarkson."

The sigh comes tumbling out in a rush of surprise and everybody turns in their chairs to look at me. In an instant I feel a thousand eyes on me. All of them jealous. All of them wanting what I have in exactly the same way I've wanted what they have for the past few years. The silence is so thick and all consuming that not even the most poweful Career could cut through it. It's so quiet I can even hear the buzz of Flora's bulbs blinking out one by one in shock. A small crowd is gathered around me now, as my face is called up from the Capitol's files, and displayed on TV for miles and miles around. The silence is choking, and I'm almost worried it will go on forever, when Nathaniel turns to me.

"Lucky." He chuckles. The crowd explodes. Congratulations are given, photos are snapped and hands are shook. Nathaniel gives a cheer and claps me on the back as the TV shows a state of the art limo speeding towards my position to pick me up.

Flo' grips me round the neck, her bulbs shining brighter than I've ever seen them before and plants a kiss on my lips. She tells me how lucky I am, how she'll miss me, how she wishes she could go. She doesn't let go off me till the limo arrives and I am escorted away.

Girls. I'll never understand them.

* * *

><p>AN: Question of the Holiday: What was the best gift you received this Christmas?


	13. D12: The Final District

A/N: And so it has come to this. We have reached the very final Reapings and can finally move on to the rest of what I hope will become a story, but has felt up till now like a series of beginnings, which I suppose is exactly what it has been.

I always find District Twelve to be a very hard District to fill, as for some reason people never submit tributes for them. It's also one of the most difficult to write for, since by this point I've already written 33 tributes and I'm sort of running out of ideas. Netherless I feel we have a wonderful selection for our last District, who have been submitted by buttercup, ShiningMockingjay1 and Read-Write-Sleep-Repeat. I hope you enjoy the chapter and look forward to your thoughts once the actual Games start.

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**Distrct Ten**

_Piper Hanna Woodburg, age 14_

District 12 is not a nice place to live, not by any stretch of the imagination. The streets are dirty, the air is full of soot and the people themselves are dirty, even if they aren't miners. The sky is almost constatly filled with rolling clouds of smoke and smog and filth. It's almost always been like this for us mining families, even if the merchants somehow managed to get by. Even worse, the Peacekeepers are tough. They get tougher every year, stomping down on anyone who ever tries to speak their views, crushing anyone who goes against the Capitol or who toes the line even slightly. It's getting harder and harder to live with anything but fear in District Twelve and it's all Katniss Everdeen's fault.

Oh sure, Katniss is perfect. Everyone loves Katniss, she's a hero in the murky belly of the Seam, there's even a statue down one of the mines, where none of the Peacekeepers or Capitol dignatries ever want to go. But think about it, sure she won the Games, she fought the Capitol and she won. She lived it up in the nicest house money could buy and a select few were chosen to rule alongside her, behind Coin. The precious few. The blind fools who kept us from realising that Coin's rule was just as horrifying as Snow's, who were either too incompetent or too monstrous to stop the Games where Capitol children were killed. The Games where everyone grew poor except those few, where the Capitol learnt to hate us afresh, so that they had no mercy left for us when they returned to power. It's no wonder that, when the Capitol returned to power, they came back even crueler than before and even more ready to subject us to the Games.

Which is why I am, this very minute, being bustled out of my quiet little shack by the edge of the forest by a group of thuggish Peacekeepers who easily have more muscles than brain cells. This happens to us every year, each time earlier in the morning, before my little sister has even got up, washed, dressed or breakfasted. They drag her out of bed, rather too literally for my liking, and assemble the contents of our street in the center of the road with militaristic efficiency. My sister struggles to her feet as the two Peacekeepers march her into position, determined not to let them help her as my brother, only two years old, stares round in confusion.

At the front of the line a man in his fifties, who looks like he once had muscles but lost them some time ago, orders us to start moving and the line presses inexorably forwards, heading for the Reapings.

As we walk my father reaches out to me and grips my hand. I turn, staring at his weathered, soot covered face and he smiles back at me.

"Scared?" He asks. I shake my head, straightening up as quickly as I can and trying to look as confident as possible. My dad gives me a sad grin, squeezing my hand, "You sure?"

No. How could I be sure? I mean, I'm terrified of the Games. Who wouldn't be? But that doesn't mean I'm unprepared. I've been training ever since I was twelve. Not professionally, you understand, not like a Career (there's no one left to train me after all), but I've tried my best. I've set up little assault courses deep in the woods, where only I know to look and I've hidden traps to test my self and taught myself to forget where I placed them and I've learnt how to make weapons out of stone and how to survive poisoning from certain things and all sorts of crazy things, just in case anything should happen to me.

I want to tell my dad some of that, but I can't. I could maybe tell my sister when she's older, or my brother once it's his time to go to the Reapings, but I can never tell my father. Not now, not ever. You see, maybe other people would be relieved if I told them I had been training for two years just in case I was Reaped, but I know my father wouldn't. I know him too well.

"Sort of." I mumble, burying my hand that my dad isn't squeezing deep in my pocket.

"So you're sort of not scared? Does that mean your OK?" The man chuckles. It's a short, sorrowful chuckle but, somehow, it really eases my fears. My dad's always been like that for some reason. He's always been able to bring out the best in me, no matter how dire the situation.

"Sort of." I say, fixing him with a smile, he shakes his head, tutting slightly.

"You're a big girl now Hana." He begins, his eyes boring into mine with a kind of keen intensity that I've never seen in anyone who isn't a member of my family, "Oldest in the family. You'll be a woman soon and then what'll we do with you?" He stops and gives me another of those sad little chuckles, "But you gotta remember, it's OK to be scared just once in a while, just so long as it doesn't get the better of you."

I blink and then nod slowly. To be honest I'm surprised at my dad. He's never really this deep. I don't really know what he means, but it sounds encouraging, and that's probably the point of it.

The Reapings, when we finally reach them, are a buzz with noise as trails of Peacekeepers escort columns of people into the sqaure and my father is dragged away from me with one last wistful smile.

Talking of Escorts, ours is rather boring. A tall, plain woman with blue hair cut short and gelled straight up, as though she's been electrocuted, known as Sabal. It's been a long, long time since we had the 'joys' of Effie Trinket, but even she, from what I here, was better than the wannabe Peacekeeper we have now. Sabal is a rather intimidating woman, dressed in a rather too skimpy Peacekeeper uniform, complete with hat, boots, jacket and whip tied to her belt. She inspects us with a haughty sneer, waiting for the mayor to finish his speech before stepping up to the mic and flashing a twelve year old, who I'm sure is my sister in her fluffy pink pajamas, a savage smile.

"District Twelve," The woman barks, her eyes twinkling as she begins to edge her way over to the girl's Reaping ball, "Twenty Five years ago Katniss Everdeen, your last hope for a peaceful solution to the horrors you bought upon our people was killed by an assassin's bullet. For her insolence, you must all be punished." She smiles as she says that, almost as though the idea of punishing someone for something they didn't do gives her pleasure. "Now," The woman simpers as she reaches into the huge glass ball behind her, "Let's see which of our little lambs will be trotting off to the slaughter today then." She slams her hands together in a joyless clap, the authoratarian kind that a teacher gives when she's being really patronising.

I take in a breath and hold it in as the woman's hand crawls, almost unwillingly, towards the Reapings Ball, like even she doesn't want to see whose name is pulled. I don't think it's fear though, I think she just wants to savour the moment. It's sick. Whoever's going up there has no chance, no matter how many Katniss Everdeen's there are in the audience, they're going. District Twelve never has volunteers. It's not allowed. Thanks a lot Katniss Everdeen, now whoever is chosen is doomed and that's all there is to it.

"Piper Woodburg."

Silence. Silence falls thick and fast on the crowd around me as the woman reads my name. People are already whispering condolences, stepping out the way and trying to look like they've never met me as Peacekeepers rush to where I stand. I open my mouth, expecting to hear myself scream, but the only cry to be heard is that of my younger sister as Peacekeepers barge past her, aiming for me. My throat goes tight and the sound catches in it, until all that can force its way out is a high pitched squeak.

Stay strong Hana, I tell myself, you can do this. You've been training remember. You can do this. You can go there and come back to your family no trouble. It'll only be a few days.

You aren't scared.

My eyes blur, scanning the crowd for a familiar face whose eyes aren't filled with tears and finding none. The blurring increases as the first few fickle tears force their way out of my eyes and begin the short journey down my cheeks. They hang at my chin, staying there for a few seconds for being whisked away in a torrent. I'm mildly aware that I am shaking as a pair of Peacekeepers lift me onto the stage and I stumble a little as they place me down, nearly toppling me over. Although I can't really see it through the cloud of tears, I can well imagine a savage smile smeared across Sabal's face as she reaches for the second name.

"Hilson Brak." I whipe my eyes and stare out across the crowd beneath me as my partner and new opponent stalks up to the stage.

Oh God! He's seventeen. He's tall and blond and covered in soot, all of which makes him look terrifying to me.

OK, don't get creeped out, I tell myself, try and work with it. You've got training this guy hasn't. You've got skills, you can take him. Just don't take any favours, don't try and get friendly. He's in these Games to win, just like you. He hates your guts.

Hilson smiles as our hands are pressed together, bending down and kissing me on the hand before looking up at me and giving me a peculiar sideways grin.

I try to think how to react, but my mind draws a blank. So it goes back to doing what it thinks is right for the situation, which is making me cry. Gee, thanks brain.

The boy looks rather puzzled and his grin falters, while the one on the face of Sabal grows ever wider. I can't think straight, my body starts shaking violently as words force their way to the surface and then bubble away in confusion as if they never existed.

Be strong.

Don't be scared.

Don't let the fear get the better of you.

I try. I try with all my might to stop being a coward as the Peacekeepers steady me and lead me off to say my goodbyes, but I just can't do it. I can't even hear the name of the idiot who gets to come along and watch my grisly death.

We can't all be brave.

* * *

><p><em>Hilson Brak, age 17<em>

District Twelve sucks. Mines suck, being poor sucks, being hungry sucks. Sleeping on tarpaulin because no one in my family can afford a bed sucks and most of all, being constantly grimy and covered in soot and shards of coal sucks. All things considered, my life sucks and there's nothing on the planet capable of making it worse.

That includes getting Reaped, which is exactly what happened to me this morning.

It sounds odd, insane even, to say that the Games can't possibly make my life worse, but I only say that because it's true.

I mean, at the end of the day the Hunger Games is so much better for me than staying here. Here I get to live out the rest of my life under the Peacekeeper's whip. Breaking my back every day just to make ends meet. I live in a grubby, ramshackle shed on the edge of the mines which means my rugged good looks are constantly stained with grime and I can really only buy one set of new clothes a year. Here I'm constantly cold, hungry and overworked. The Capitol, on the other hand, is clean, spacious and I'll be treated like a god while I'm there. I don't have to work and there's great food, loads of fans cheering me on and, best of all, fit girls. So what if I'm only going to live a couple of days, in my eyes, it's totally worth it.

Besides, there was no way I was ever going home anyway. Today, I was planning to leave the Reapings and keep on walking, go live with friends, maybe my girlfriend, Sienne. I'd settle down and maybe even get married. I don't know what I'd do. Try to start a meaningful relationship I guess. It might work. I might actually enjoy settling down and starting a family, rather than just moving on to the next girl when the last one got boring. Maybe I could have even quit thatr God forsaken mine and get a job somewhere else, like a shop or something. It doesn't matter, I guess I'll never know what could have happened now. Time to move on with my life.

There's nothing waiting for me back there, in that shed. Nothing but him.

He stands opposite me as the last few visitors turn to leave, Sienne wiping her eyes on her sleeve. He doesn't look sad. He looks tired and slightly mad, like he's angry that I dragged him out here just so he could say goodbye. People look at him like they don't know why he's here. It's not surprising. He doesn't work. He never gets up and goes outside. He just sits there, drinking.

Nobody would ever guess he was my father. Even I'm not quite sure he is. I only have his word for it, since mum died when I was born, and he really isn't the most trust worth guy I know. Besides we look nothing like each other. He's fat, sickly and bug eyed and I'm tall, muscular and blond. I'm dashing and he's just kind of gross.

"Your going." He growls once everyone's gone. I nod and he twitches, betrying what I'm pretty sure is a smile hiding behind a layer of wrinkles. "I need you here you know that?"

"I know." There's no emotion behind my words, no anger or spite. The truth is it doesn't matter.

"How am I going to live without you?" The man sighs, sounding more bitter than upset as he searches in his pocket for something. He doesn't find it and goes back to rubbing his hands together as I give my answer.

"Work." I shrug.

"I don't want to."

"I don't care." He blinks, turning away from me and sighing again, before turning back and continuing, his eyes still dead and tearless.

"I'm sorry."

"No your not."

"True." The man heaves a dry chuckle. "Do you forgive me?" I shake my head, "I'm just asking you to forgive me." I am silent for a while and then slowly nod.

"I know. I don't care."

"You don't want to? Come back alive." There's another longer pause. We both know why he wants me to live. He needs someone to do his biding.

"I don't want to." The man shrugs, turning and walking out and, as he goes, I know that I have talked to my father for the last time. And I'm happy.

I don't need him after all, I don't need anyone.

The Peacekeepers seem rather perplexed when no one else comes to visit. I suppose they thought a handsome guy like me would have more visitors, which is understandable, but I'm sad to say that I don't. After a few minutes an older man comes, a Peacekeeper in a blue buttoned coat who leads me to the train and helps me onto it as though I were so much canned meat.

I probably don't need to say this but the train is wonderful.

Fabulous.

Grand.

Spacious.

Magnificent.

The train is magnificent. Less of a carriage, more of a room, the train is covered wall to wall with a lush red rug and numerous chairs, televisions and tables. Spread out along the tables is food, of all shapes and sizes and all types and tastes. The carriage contains more food than I've ever seen in one place, even on market days, and that's only counting the stuff I've heard of. Spread out across the table are more than one hundred dishes that I have only ever heard of and never seen before, and even more whose names I can't even pronounce. A huge television fills the far wall and there are cubicles at either end of the carriage with our own personal bedrooms, bathrooms and shower cubicles. My eyes scan through the people assembled in my carriage. First among them is Sabal, who sits at the end of a long sofa, grinning at me with hungry eyes. Even though I like to think of myself as a brave guy, I'm slightly creeped out by this and I quickly decide to give my teal haired stalker a wide birth, just in case she decides to gut me at some point. Apart from her the train is pretty empty. There are a few Peacekeepers dotted around, including a weird bald guy with dark blue eyes. His names Kreote and he'll be our mentor this year. It's odd that our mentor isn't a Victor this year, since the District isn't entirely without Victors. We have Richardt, a small, slight man sitting next to Kreote and chatting nervously with him, but he's hardly the best person to train us. Not only does he have no use of his right arm, so he's not really any good for sparring with, but he doesn't even seem to remember he was ever in the Games. Dude received a head wound in the Games and, don't ask me how, I'm not a doctor, the whole two weeks he spent in the Games got knocked out of his head. I guess it doesn't matter, he spent all of those two weeks hiding in an undergound labrynth using his knowledge of the mines to avoid the mutts and the cave-ins. It's hardly surprising he won.

The final person in our line up of weirdos is my weepy District partner, who doesn't actually seem to be here. That's a shame, because she's really the only person on this train who doesn't creep me out. Sabal looks at me and gives me a weird grin, licking her lips and chuckling. I jolt to attention and quickly excuse myself to go and take a shower. It's the best tactic to get away from that woman.

When my shower is over I check my bedroom, which has been generously filled with everything a tribute could ever want, and I do mean everything. After discarding some of the smuttier magazines from the cupboard in my room and finding one on Capitol fashion I leave the room and take a look for somewhere good to sit and read. Obviously I'm not going back into the main carriage, and I don't feel particularly comfortable sitting in my own room surrounded by weird porn that Capitolites think I'll like, so I head over to my weepy partners room. Maybe I can sit on the bed or something.

Ms Woodburg isn't exactly in any fit state to let me sit on the bed. She appears to be rather to busy crying into the pillow to even notice me as I enter.

I should really just leave her and go back to my own room but, despite my better judgement, I decide to stick around.

I don't really know what it is that makes me walk over to the girl and try to stop her crying. Maybe I feel bad for making her cry earlier, but I doubt that's it. With the amount of girlfriends I've gone through, I've made more than a few cry. Personally I think I'm still sore that my last talk with my dad was so unfeeling. I need some contact with actual emotion in it and, right now, sorrow is probably the best I can hope for.

"Err... Hey..." I mutter as I approach her. She doesn't respond, so I raise my voice a bit "... Hey, chick." Still no response, "Hey, chick, it's Hilson. You OK?" The girl buries her head further in her pillow, still unwilling to respond. I reach out and tap her on the shoulder, "Hey, Hanna... Wait what the hell!"

Even as I'm speaking the girl bolts to her feet, faster than I would have thought possible and wraps her arms around me, causing me to stumble backwards. She hangs off me by her arms, trying to stand but shaking to much to do anything but trip over her own feet. Fortunately I'm taller than Miss Woodburg, otherwise I'd be on the floor, but it's still a big shock.

"OhGodOhGodOhGodOhGod." The girl mutters at a blinding speed as she clings to me, her nails digging into the back of my neck and stopping any chance of escape. I shake my head, tentatively wrapping an arm around her head and patting it, mumbling that it's all right, or words to that effect. "Ohnononono," The girl whimpers, tears still streaming down her face almost as fast as she's gabbling, "It'sn-notalright. Ican'tdothis. IthoughtIwasreadybutI'mnotI'mreallynotandthey'regonnakillmeandthey'regonnamakeithurtandthey're-"

"Okay, okay," I sigh, patting her on the head as she digs her face into my chest, "Just, slow down OK. How do you know you're going to die anyway?" She wipes her nose on the back of her hand, looking up at me with reddened eyes that are pooling with tears, and, after a few long, deep, breaths, begins to talk again.

"I'm g-g-going to d-die..." She begins, before breaking into tears and burying her head in my shoulder. God, will someone please make it stop? All this crying is starting to get really wearing.

"You don't know that."

"Y-yes I d-do." The girl sniffles.

"What if the Arena's a big mine or something?" he doesn't seem to notice I'm there, "Come on, you've got some chance." The crying continues to increase and I groan, trying a different tact. By that I mean I get mad, knocking off of me and onto her bed with a quick shrug of my shoulders. "Ah God girl," I cry, at the stunned Miss Woodburg "What are you crying for anyway? We're gonna be treated like gods, what's so bad about that? So what if you die, at least we get away from District Twelve and all the damned Peacekeepers! Ain't that enough for you?" The girl looks at me, stunned, too scared to even cry. She opens her mouth, but no sound comes out and she closes it again. "Come on, kid," I mutter, "What have you got to lose?" She stares at me for a few more minutes, opening and closing her mouth like a fish, before finally answering.

"My family."

"Your fa..." My words die in my throat as a wave of emotions suddenly roll over me. She has a family. I saw them crying when she got Reaped. I wish someone had cried for me like that. I wish someone had cared that I got Reaped. I wish I had something worth going back to District Twelve. A family who needed me. A special someone. I've got nothing. I've just got him.

"I'll help you." I say before I can stop myself. The girl stares at me like I'm insane, which I guess I am. I just offered to help the loser tribute, that means I have to stay alive, which wasn't something I was planning on. I shouldn't be doing this. I should be waiting to die, savouring every moment of fame I get. Why am I offering to help the loser?

"A-are- are you serious?" The girl asks, almost as though she's scared that this is some kind of sick joke.

"Sure," I sigh, "You got a family back home. I can't just let you die when you've got someone worth crying over. Besides, you're cute." It's stupid I know, but I can't just let this girl suffer in silence. As much as it's against my better judgement, I have to help, I'm just too nice a guy not too.

It happens again, before I can react and without warning, the girl is on her feet, her arms wrapped around me, her face split into a huge smile. I fall to the floor as the girl launches at me, my magazine going flying as the girl thanks me again and again and again and kissing me on the cheek.

Ah man. I'm not going get a chance to read my magazine, am I?

* * *

><p><em>Angel Claudino, age 14<em>

I should have been born in the Districts. I know it sounds insane because the Districts are filthy and disgusting and its people are foetid little slaves who deserve to watch their children die for what they did to the Capitol, but part of me still wishes I was born there, rather than in the boring old Capitol.

I don't mean in District Eight or Six or Three or something you understand. I don't want to live in any of those disease ridden dung hills. It would be murder to work in such slums, I'd prefer to deliberately misbehave just so some Peacekeeper would shoot me and I wouldn't have to live out such a dimeaning existence anymore. The kids in those Districts are used to all the abuse at least. I mean, they deserve it and they know it. They rebeled against us and condemned us to fifteen years under the iron rule of that demon Coin. Me, I haven't done anything wrong, I don't deserve to live in any of those Districts.

No, when I say I wish I was born in the Districts I mean District One, Two or Four. The Careers. The Victors. The only Districts that are anything, anything, but contemptable. I would have made a good Career I think. I love the Games. I don't even flinch when the gore starts flying and I've seen almost every horror movie known to man. I have an extensive knowledge of weapons, a keen intellegence and, if I don't say so myself, I'm far more capable than the whithered husks that come from the higher Districts. All I'm missing is the training. If I had that, I would be the perfect Career. If only I weren't born in the Capitol. If only I could actually have the chance to go. To feel the adrenaline as I took each life, the exhilaration as I wade through the Cornucopia, the pure rush of knowing that victory and eternal fame is assured.

But I can never have that and it's all my parents fault. If only those creatures had been born in District Two. I would be able to grow up there with no need to work. I could spend my life training. I could volunteer and then spend my life living in eternal luxury, lauding it over all of the cowards, the traitors to Panem.

But instead, I am forced to live inside hell. To be bought up in the indecency of a Capitol flat, and not even a big one at that. It's disgusting.

My room itself is an affront to nature as well. I like he lush pink carpeting, the curtains and the posters of the Vicors hung from every wall, but then again I should, I'm responsible for those little changes. Without them the room would barely be habitable. The door creaks, the paint is chipping off near the ceiling and there's a damp patch of wall near the window. The room is bitterly cold, I can feel it through my matresses. Apparently my family knows nothing of how to pay their heating bills, because the radiator at the top of my bed is freezing, having clearly been off for some time, probably the entire night. I'd turn it on myself but, really, that's why we have Avoxes. I wouldn't want to deprive them of a job that they should be doing anyway. After all it's their job.

My room is also far, far too small. It's not even half the size of the Victor's bedrooms that I see on the television, or even as big as the rooms of the mayors of the Districts.

"Angel! Time to get up!" A voice calls from the hall and I recoil, pulling one of my pillows over my ears and tugging the covers further over me.

I don't want to get up. I want to stay in bed. The quilts of my bed weigh down on me, crushing me into my bed as they always do. They itch too, on account of my mum's brainless spending. She knows that biological washing powder inflames my skin, and yet she buys it anyway. She's already a horrible mother, does she really feel the need to torture me further or is she really so incompetent.

I curl up tighter in my bed, tucking my feathery wings up around me to try and keep me warm and hiding my face between a wall of pink hair as my mother throws open the door, letting light crash through and assault my eyes. I moan in pain as my eyes sting behind my eyelids, tossing and turning to escape the wreched light, but it's no use. In a matter of minues I have been dragged ou of bed, my hair has been washed and my mother is squaking and squeaking about missing out on things as a pair of Avoxes dry me, brush my hair and dress me in a bright pink silk 'gown'. Well my mum calls it a gown at least. To me it looks more like a sheet, albeit one that my little brother has attacked with scissors and my mum has tried to repair by tactically shearing more fabric off of the so-called 'gown'. It's an uncomfortable costume that I'm only ever dressed in for Reapings day, since both my parents know that I detest it, and it serves no practically purpose, other than looking pretty and helping me to freeze to death. What other reason would it have for refusing to cover my stomach, shoulders, leg, hip and most of my back? It's a spite dress, made deliberately to make me suffer every Reaping day. It's so thin and pointless that it's actually impossible for me to pull it on myself, since it comes in three parts that must all be held on at once while all the clips and ties are being done, and so I have to rely on a team of Avoxes to do it for me. It's a common problem in the Capitol, the wild impracticallity of our clothing, but I can't help feeling that this never would have happened if I were a Victor in the Districts.

If I were a Victor I wouldn't need these idiots to dress me. I could go to the Reapings in sack cloth and no one would give a damn. I could waltz in in my underwear and no one would raise an eyebrow. The Victors can get away with anything, but I have to be my mum's little doll, letting her dress me in the stupidest of costumes, just so that I can watch the Reapings, with my family, in my own home where no one can see, or cares, what I'm wearing.

Which is probably for the best, because I don't think I would be able to bear going outside at all while wearing this. I don't think my boyfriend would mind, in fact he'd probably love it, but I prefer my dates to be private affairs, with just me and him, rather than having to avoid hoardes of admirers and make sure not to step in their drool. That's already enough of a problem with who I'm dating, Milo Shrine, the head of the football team whose family is distantly related to Claudius Templesmith, so I can't imagine how bad it would be if there were two of us with fanbases.

One of the Avoxes, a short freckely girl who I think might actually be younger than me finally finishes tying the bow behing the back of my dress and my mother claps her hands together, gripping me by the arm and dragging me out into the sitting room, where my family are waiting for my arrival with bated breath.

There all there, unfortunately. Both younger siblings, my father, mother and several Avoxes. My family is one of the few to still be upholding the tradition of having Avoxes in our house and, considering all the room they take up and all the eating they do, I think it's a shame that father hasn't driven them all out already. I mean, what's the point of keeping the things around if they don't do all the work for you? All they do is stand around, not speaking, like ghastly statues.

"You almost missed the whole thing." My sister, Delphine, tells me in an annoyingly matter of fact way, "If you'd just got up a little earlier we could have all gone down to the square together. You've ruined the whole day." My father looks up from his paper for a second, grunting in a way that tells me that going down to the square is the least on his agenda at the moment.

"I didn't miss it," I growl so darkly that my younger brother jumps up from the sofa in surprise, allowing me to sit, "I caught the whole thing on the TV in my room."

"Oh yeah. So who got picked for District Five?" My sister asks, a sly grin hanging on her face.

"How should I know?" I mutter, "I stopped watching after the Avox bastard beat me to District Four." My sister giggles and I snap at her. "What?"

"District Four's a boy's ball." My orange haired little brother whispers and I sigh, patting him on the head. My little brother is really the only person in this family who I get on with, mostly because my parents keep trying to turn my sister into a mini version of me, thinking they can do it right the second time, and that makes me sick. At least that explains why I didn't get it. Stupid Gamemakers, bending the Games so that I can't participate. That's just evil.

"Sure." I grin, making sure that I sit on as much of Delphine's bright purple hair as possible as I sit down before reaching out and pinching a bit of the paper thin gown she's being forced to wear as well, "Like you dad would ever take us out anyway." Delphine snarls and I shrug. My sister should know not to expect too much from father anyway. He only ever gets two months when the company on the other side of the Capitol lets him come home to see us, and he doesn't want to spend those precious months listening to what his children say. Why would he? "And what about this?" I smile, gripping her wing and giving it a tug, causing her to cry out in pain. It's a bit harsh I know, since she's only just got them and the stitches are still sore, but its her own fault. She knows that the only reason mum let her get them is so that she looks like me. It's actually slightly pathetic.

"Angel Claudino!" Mum gasps, pulling me from the sofa and nursing my sisters wing as tears stream down her face. Mum stares at me like I'm some sort of monster. I'm really not, I just hate the idea of being replaced. I may not agree with my parents, I may not love or cherish them like everyone else, but I'm not letting them get rid of me.

After a few moments of uncomfortable silence my father finally orders one of the Avoxes to turn up the volume on the television and the rest of the families attention is diverted. I don't give a damn. Like I said I just don't care who goes now. Sure I've got a few slips in that Reaping Ball, but I don't care. Let some rich girl go to look at filthy peasants. At least the TV saves me from the smell.

Delphine turns on me as a yawn forces its way out of my body. "Excuse me Angel." She simpers, her voice a sour coo, "But some of us a trying to watch this."

"Oh really. How sad."

"Jerk." My sister scoffs and I snarl at her from behind the sofa.

"Moron." I retort.

"Ass." Delphine sneers.

"Spoilt brat." I crow.

"Cow."

"Pig."

"Pissy little drama queen." My sister snarls, flinging her self over the sofa and smacking me round the face, I stare up at her, a glare full on my face and give a little snarl.

"District swine." My father's paper drops to the floor. My sister gives a shriek of disgust and storms out of the room. My little brother covers his ears and screws his eyes shut. Most of the Avoxes grimace, as though they knew Delphine had it coming and are actually slightly annoyed that I'd associate her with them.

My mother's face flushes with anger, and I expect her to repremand me again but, this time, it's not her who shouts my name.

"Angel Claudino!" The man on the television booms, "Congratulations. You are our last lucky little girl to be traveling to the Tributes Tower to rub shoulders with the wonderful tributes of District Twelve!"

Oh joy. What an astounding privilege. Thank you Caesar Flickerman for making my _wildest_ dream come true. I get to 'rub shoulders' with the scum of the earth. The very District that caused our wonderful nation all that trouble so, so many years ago. I have to get close to scum, I have to talk to scum, I have to _touch _scum. The thought of those inbred troglodytes glaring cross eyed at me as they attempt to form words is almost enough to make me sick.

This isn't a prize, it's a nightmare. Why should I have to be dragged out of my daily life just so I can grace a few pimply, ugly, louse ridden teens with my presence? And to make matters worse, while I'm gone, I just know that they'll try to replace me with Delphine. Well I'm not doing it! I don't want to! They can't make me!

Unfortunately, it appears that the ever surprising Caesar Flickerman is capable of mind reading on top of interviewing as he opens his mind and utters the words I never thought I'd hear. "And remember, once you've been chosen there's no going back. As we decided earlier when young Jhoker Silo, the Avox from the Districts was chosen, once a slip is chosen, it cannot be denied, just like in the real Games. Neat eh?"

Ugh!

God, this never would have happened if I'd been born in District One.

* * *

><p>AN: Question of the Day (It's a hard one): What do you think is going to happen next to your tribute?


	14. Train rides

A/N: Well, that's the Reapings out the way. Now we can move on to something far more important, character interaction. That's pretty much what these next few chapters will be about. Getting you to feel for other people's characters before I butcher most of them. I've only written four characters this chapter, but I expect to write more as the Games get further in, so we'll see how it goes.

As always I'd love your comments, and I was very pleased by how much of a response I got to the last chapter. Enjoy.

**The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games**

**Train Rides**

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><p><em>Verity Marx, age 17 (C1 Female)<em>

Ohmygodohmygodohmygodohmygod!

This is so cool!

Not only do I, me, Verity Marx, manage to be one of those lucky, lucky twelve who managed to win the best seats in the Capitol to watch the Games, but I'm sitting next to Dallas Orchid! The Dallas Orchid! Son of the owners of Capitech and one of the hottest guys I've ever met!

And I'm on a limo!

Just when everyone had _finally _arrived at the Gamesmaker HQ place and I was thinking that this day couldn't get any better, a bunch of limos show up, they tell us that they're taking us to the Tributes Tower and we're all bundled in, four to a limo.

I need to slow down and think for a second. I'm getting kind of giddy.

Okay, so the other two kids in our limo are Xio and Cesse. They're sitting opposite us, like, fifteen yards or something away huddled around Cesse's camera whispering to each other. Cesse is trying to act like he's not to interested in the whole thing, but he's not a very good actor. The two are just perfect for each other! Ever so often Xio will point something out or Cesse will flick to the next picture and they'll both giggle. I can't imagine what they could be looking at but the pair of them are acting like it's the greatest secret on earth. They're a cute couple. I wonder how long it'll take for them to become an item. Not long if I have anything to say about it! I let the woozy smile on my face grow as I watch them. The only thing I enjoy more than chatting up guys and partying is helping my friends to chat up guys, and this Xio girl is cool enough to be one of my friends. Oh man this day is gonna be so fun!

Now that I think about it Dallas doesn't look to good. He seems kind of sad and keeps pulling at his collar and wringing his hands. It's not a good look for him. I mean, he's got all those cool feathers in his hair and they just don't look good all droopy with worry like that.

"Hey," I mumble, reaching over to Dallas and tapping him on the shoulder, blushing slightly as he looks up at me through a row of droopy green and blue feathers.

"Well hey." He flashes me a smile and runs a hand through his feathers, "What can ah do for you?" A warm tingling sensation runs down my spine as Dallas speaks. What can I say, I like guys with cool accents.

"We-well." Damn, I'm normally so good at this whole flirting thing, I do it enough after all but, god knows why, this guy has really got me flustered. It's all the drink Verity, it's just the drink. He's not that hot. It's just the drink making you think he is, nothing more. "Actually I was more worried about- about what I could do for you, I mean..."

"What could ya do for me?" Dallas grins, raising an eyebrow and winking. Oh damn, he's asking questions. Why does he need to know how I want to help him? Can't he just accept I want to help?

"I don't know." I reply, feeling slightly stupid, "You seem kind of... droopy." He chuckles and I find myself laughing at my own mistake. Stupid alcohol, "Something I could do anything about?"

"Sure, Verity was it?" He pauses, the feathers in his hair plumping up slightly as he ruffles his hand through the clump, "If you know a good place for a babysitter. Got a little sister who needs someone to tuck her in at night while ah'm not there."

"Don't think I really know anyone," I mumble, "I'm too old for babysitters."

"Yeah?" He chuckles again, "Would you like to do it?" I shrug, trying to think of something to say.

"I have a sister." I finally manage to croak. God, listen to me. I'm supposed to be cold as ice, flirting with a boy and here I am, too flustered to even come up with a good line.

"You do?" His eyes light up at the mention of sisters, clearly his little sis is better than the stuck up, pretentious cow of a sister I've got. "Sounds like we've got something in common, eh Verity?"

I nod, before feeling something brush against my knee. My eyes dart down and register the hand resting on my knee, then back up to his face. He grins at me, his eyes sparkling and I feel a blush cross my face.

And I thought things couldn't get any better!

* * *

><p><em>Leighton Kelly, age 16 (D2 Female)<em>

TV. Why am I suddenly so interested in TV? Back when I lived in the District I never gave a damn about TV. Never had time for it with all the training dad made me do but, now? Now I can't get enough of that little black box in the corner of my quarters of the train. I'm not supposed to call it a room, not now I've been Reaped. It's what dad would want me to call it. I'm a tribute now, I'm not supposed to think like a normal teenager now. I'm supposed to be a Victor and I have to think like one.

Think tactics. Think tactics. Not friends, not family, victory.

And that's why the TV is on. I need to think like a Victor. I need to select my allies. I need to win this.

Playing out before me, in an endless loop of pride and ego, are the Reapings of the tributes from Districts One, Two and Four, as well as anyone else who looks like they'll be a challenge. The District One guy, for example, is a brute. I have absolutely no idea how someone with so many scars and so much muscle can't be a Career but, according to Caesar Flickerman's factfiles, which I've also spent a lot of time studying, he's never even showed up at the Career training grounds before. His District partner, Faiza, seems to be pretty much your standard Career, but I don't like that glint she's got in her eye. She seems a lot mor confident than me, not to mention crazier. I don't think I'll really enjoy being in an alliance with her, but I guess I don't really have all that much choice. She's a Career after all, we've got to stick together or else we'll be picked off.

There's no point in watching District Two or Three. I've already seen myself walk up there about five times now and it kind of depresses me. District Three is pathetic. I hate to say that, but I've got to think like a Victor, and those two would just slow me down.

District Four seems like it could give us some good allies. They've got that weird posh dude going, so I guess he could work with us. Once again, though, the problem's the girl. I could tell she wasn't a Career even before she spoke but, for some reason, she couldn't just stand down and let a Career have a go! It's stupid and she's just going to end up dead. There's no point to keeping her in our alliance.

I almost considered putting the District Five girl or the massive guy from Seven in as Career possibles but, thinking about it, one of them's blind and the other's insane, so it's probably not the best idea I could have.

We need as many allies as we can get, so I'm just going to have to sit in this room until the train gets to its final destination trying to pick them and hope that nobody distracts me.

"So. Your Leighton?" Damn. I roll over on my bed and fix my eyes on Luke. "I thought I might find you here."

Really I'm not all that upset that Luke's interrupting me. I mean, sure we're supposed to be enemies, and dad would probably be telling me that I should be competing with him, but really, he doesn't seem all that bad. So far I've only met him once, briefly, when we were getting onto the train, but he didn't seem like a jerk or anything.

"Yeah," I sigh, pressing off on the TV remote and sitting up so that he can sit down, "I was just checking over the tapes, you know, to see who we've got on our side." He nods, a small smile creeping on to his lips as his mind turns to the Games. He's a Career through and through. Who else would smile at the thought of going to a Games where people die?

"Well, who have we got?" He asks, sitting down on the matress as he does so.

"District One and the Guy from Four."

"That's it?" He asks, his eyes widening slightly at the thought of being in such a small alliance.

"Yeah. Sucks, doesn't it?" I say with a slight smile, "But that's what we have to work with." He nods again, a frown furrowing his brows this time, and then turns away from me, staring at something that he clutches in his hands. There's a long period in which neither of us say anything, but then curiosity gets the better of me and I find myself leaning over his shoulder, staring down at a pretty woman with a big smile on her face. She's standing in a quarry, one hand wrapped around Luke's arm, the other around the shoulder of a small blond boy, who looks very much like his brother, who's standing next to Luke, grinning at the camera.

"Who are they?" I ask, pointing at the figures in the picture with three of my fingers.

My District partners jolts as he realises I am hanging over him, before returning to stare at his photo, a smile creasing across his face. "They're my family," Luke explains, "Those two are my brothers, John and James and that beauty there," His voice takes on a dreamy, far away quality as he speaks, "Is my dear fiancee."

I jump in surprise as he tells me that. In truth I haven't watched the factfile on him yet, I never would have guessed he was married.

"You have a fiancee?"

"Yeah and a kid on the way too. Ah man, mom is gonna kill me when she hears this." Luke shrugs, his smile drooping slightly and making him look less like the teen he is and more like an old man, "That kid means the world to me, you know."

"So why are you here?" I mumble. Seriously, it doesn't make sense to me. "I'm no expert but being dead doesn't really help you raise a child."

"So I'll have to not die then," Luke grins, his eyes sparkling as he rises to his feet, "How about you? Think you can get through this?" I shrug. It's something I try not to think about, dying. I mean, this morning I wasn't exactly confident. I want to tell him. I want to tell somebody that I'm not confident, that I'm not ready, but I barely know this guy. Should I do the old Career shtick and act really confident, or actually tell the truth?

"Sure I know I can get through this. I volunteered for it didn't I?" I lie, laughing uncertainly, "Besides, I'm the daughter of a Victor, I've got what it takes to win! I know I have!" That last line is more to reassure myself than it is to convince him, but Luke seems to be drawn in by my lies.

"Daughter of a Victor eh?" Luke smiles, "I remember you saying something about that. So, Miss Kelly, it sounds like we both have a reason to get home." I nod. I will make my father proud, I can't let him down. "Well then, I watch your back, you watch mine?" He holds out his hand and, after a few seconds of staring, I grip it, shaking it exuberantly.

"Sure!" I grin, "Last one out the Arena buys the drinks?"

"Of course." Luke smirks. The conversation dies down. There's nothing else to do except sit and wait for night.

I should have told him the truth. I should have said I was afraid.

I'm such a coward.

* * *

><p><em>Jhoker Silo, age 15 (C4 Male)<em>

If I could speak I would ask to be put in another limo. Simple as that. I don't think the limo they've chosen is right for me. It's not the seats, the seats are nice, and I'm sure I'd enjoy the food if I wasn't the one who ended up serving it, but the people. God I hate the people.

You know how they say three's a crowd? Yeah, well try four! I'm stuck in here with them for, God knows, hours on end, and the only person I could find who's decent is Sculptor Fitch, and he's my damn boss!

The other two chicks are just infuriating. Asfalt and Cyrix I think they're called, and I could not find you two more annoying chicks if you paid me! First things first, they're disgusting. Damn girls spent the first ten minutes of the journey making fun of me for being an Avox and then the next thirty minutes trying to get me to take my shirt off. Or at least Cyrix tried that, Asfalt got a bit embarassed by it and hid her face behind her book. Kept going on until I'd written as many insults I could think of on a sheet of paper and gave it to the weird snake girl. Well, what do you know? She just laughed at it! Didn't sound happy though, and she didn't try to convince me to strip after that, so I think I did the job pretty well.

After that? They just yammered on and on. Constantly! They would not shut up! I've been in this limo four bloody hours now and, even if I could talk, it wouldn't do me any good because there's no time to get a word in edgeways over the constant barrage of Claudius Templesmit facts!

At least Sculptor got lucky. He put in his head phones and fell asleep. His big blue head's resting on my shoulder right now, and that isn't doing anything for my masculinity.

Ah hell, they've moved on to talking about boys. If this stuff gets any girlier I think I'm gonna turn into a girl. That or punch something, but that doesn't look likely since I can't move Mr Fitch's head off of my shoulder right now! God, what does this guy weigh?

"So," Cyrix snickers, pushing Asfalt's book out of the way just as Asfalt is about to start reading again, "If you were in the Games, how would you win it?" Asfalt blinks, a smile slowly forming over her face.

"Camoflage."

"Excuse me?" Cyrix giggles, resting her hands on Asfalt's book. Asfalt grits her teeth as Cyrix's claws dig into the pages, creasing them horribly. Asfalt glares daggers at her as she does so, like she's about to rip her guts out. Cyrix doesn't seem to notice though, she just keeps on stroking the book and creasing it's pages more and more. I guess people generally don't notice stuff like that. Maybe it's just because I can't speak, so I use my eyes to work out emotions. That is one good thing about being an Avox I guess. No one ever notices you're there so they don't do anything to hide their emotions from you.

"Camoflage," Asfalt explains, a grin creasing her face as she speaks, "It works in real life and on the web, so why wouldn't it in the Games?"

"The web?" Cyrix asks, her own smile widening to ridiculous proportions, "What web would this be?" Asfalt considers, wondering whether or not she should reveal her secret, before beginning to speak.

"OK, a couple of years back I found this game on the web," Asfalt mutters, talking quietly and quickly, as though she's afraid of someone overhearing. But we're in a limo. The only person here who can hear her is me, and I can read lips. "It's like the Hunger Games only virtual. You make a tribute, choose a District, give them skills and stick them in a randomly generated Arena. Only problem was, I always made a tribute like me, and she never made it past the Bloodbath."

"Sounds about right." Cyrix laughs, "Who would get through with all those Careers around."

"Right. So I created a new plan. I act really chummy with everyone before the Games start. Go on the forums, make some friends. You know, the usual."

"Uh huh," Cyrix says in a way that suggests very strongly that she has no idea what Asfalt is talking about. Neither do I to be honest, but I know that Asfalt sounds like a nerd.

"Then, once we get to the Games, everyone wants to protect me. They all want to be in an alliance with me. My alliance has more members than the Careers!"

"Sure." Cyrix smiles.

"Then I go on some time in the early morning, before anyone else is up, and kill everyone. It works every time!" Asfalt grins as the two of them break out into hysterical, and incredibly annoying, giggles. Yeah, sure, because killing people is absolutely hilarious. "Okay, how would you win a Games?"

"Ah man," Cyrix snickers, "I never really thought of it before actually. I guess this whole 'Reapings' thing got me thinking. Dunno, I suppose I'd just join the Careers, they seem like decent fighters, and that tactic would at least keep me alive a bit longer! Don't expect I'd win though. I'm not Victor material."

"Oh you'd be surprised," Asfalt replies, "I mean, look at Kyte Luch, the District Three Victor. No one expected her to win, but she still came out of it alive. Who knows, we could probably give it a good shot if we were ever forced to be in the Games."

"Yeah." Cyrix laughs at intolerably loud volume, and I quickly scribble 'SHUT UP' as well as several swears onto a sheet of paper and pass it over to her. "Oh?" She smirks, ripping the paper off of it's pad and reading it as quickly as she could, "Oh Jhoker, you charmer you!"

Asfalt grins savagely as she lets the book rest on her lap, regarding me with cold eyes, "Well he's not trying to impress you is he?" Asfalt grins, staring pointedly at Sculptor, who's still resting on my shoulder, "Are you Toungless. Really I don't even know why they invited the District boy here anyway. You don't belong here District boy. You belong in the Bloodbath." She smiles, leaning back and going back to her book, squinting to read it in the thining light, she reaches up and clicks on a light behind her. Cyrix gives a nervous laugh, somewhat taken aback by the ferocity of the other girl's attack. I'm stunned myself. Personally I was more annoyed by Cyrix, but that Asfalt girl is just viscious. I never would have expected it, since she spends all her time with her face buried in a book. That outburst actually sort of terrified me. I lean back as Cyrix hitches her legs up, curling into a ball and quickly falling asleep. The position makes her look even more snake like than usual.

I sigh, writing as many profanities down as possible on a sheet of paper. I keep trying to get Asfalt's attention, so that I can show her what I think of her, but she just ignores me, continuing to read in the darkness. Really there's no way I can come back to her barrage of insults. What am I going to say? Nothing! Nothing, because I can't even speak. I look down, spotting something moving on her ankle in the darkness. It takes me a moment to realise what it is. A tattoo. A moving rose, growing and pulsing like some disgusting cancer, some horrifying parasite crawling across her leg, the initials AB scratched upon it in a dark sash of gold. I assume it would be pretty, if it weren't for the person it has been branded on. I guess the same is true of my check gloves. I look down at the tiny black and white boxes that cover my arms. Sure they'd look good on a girl, but I ain't a girl. Bloody bossman should have given them to Ezzy, not me. Avox 17 would have looked simply stunning with checkered arms, but Avox 19? Me? I find them horrible. They make me look like some guy who's trying to look like a girl. It really is thick giving a guy alterations that look so girly, but if Claudius Templesmith can live with neon pink hair, I guess I can live with silly pixel sleeves. It's only until I get my freedom and can pay to have them surgically removed after all.

I lean back, no longer caring that Sculptor is, unknowingly of course, resting his head on my shoulder. I'll let those two obnoxious chicks over on the far side of the limo think what they want about me. I don't give a damn. Personally, if I had the choice of being stranded on an island with any of the people in this God damn limo, I'd choose Master Fitch. At least he never calls me 'Toungless'.

Seriously Toungless?

If we were in the Games I'd make sure that she was toungless before th Bloodbath was over.

* * *

><p><em>Hallan Seifross, age 16 (D11 Male)<em>

There is no way in hell I'll go back there in a box. I will survive. I will fight and I will win. I can't die. I just can't. I refuse to end my life before I'm even a legal adult!

I. Will. Survive.

My room is sparse. Anything that can be written on has been wrenched from the wall and crammed onto my desk. Posters, pages from magazines, bits of white bead sheet. All of it has been pulled from where it once lay and scattered into my writing space. I may not be the most intelligent guy to ever have lived, and I may not have taken that much interest in the Hunger Games before but even I know that, when confronted with a life and death problem, you start making plans.

So that's exactly what I'm doing as the sun goes down as Allina and Minty settle themselves into their comfy beds. I'm busy scheming.

What can I expect? Well, first off, there's Mutts. There's bound to be Mutts. I scribble down a quick drawing. Can't write 'cos no one ever taught me, so there's no real way I can put my thoughts down other than pictures. I draw a picture of a dog with a question mark over it. There's really only one way to avoid mutts and that's to run so, if I am unfortunate enough to meet a Mutt, that's exactly what I'm going to do.

Now, onto allies. Do I really want them? Well the answers obviously yes. I'm not going to win these Games without someone backing me up. While going for the Careers alliance would be nice, I think it would probably just slow me down. It's far better to look for the losers, the people who aren't really going anywhere and stick with them. Then you have the number advantage and your not the weak link, so no one's going to target you. I scribble a few stick figures down and put a question mark over them. I need to start picking my allies.

"Good evening Mr Seifross." A voice sounds from behind me, causing me to jump, "Planning are we?"

I spin aroung in my chair, looking around frantically and spotting the huge, skeletal form of Cyrian Delfont in my doorway. I turn, trying to cover the papers but before I can he has already plucked them from my hands and is holding them up, inspecting them.

"Couldn't sleep, huh?" Cyrian bends left, as though listening to something and then breaks into muttering, "Yes I know. Poor little Allina's all tuckered out. Minty too? Shame. She was fun, thought she could last the night. Hm? Yeah sure." He turns to me, inspecting the paper in front of him. "You know Seifross, planning's exactly what I did when I was on the train. Stick figure eh? You know those ain't words?" He laughs a loud, creaking laugh, "Doesn't matter kid. I couldn't write at your age either." I nod slowly as the man wanders over to my bed and falls back onto it, kicking up his feet, "So Seifross, you wanna be it?"

"It?" I mumble. I'm not good with new people, especially not creepy murderers and this guy's about as creepy as you get.

"My friend." Cyrian grins, "I got so many friends, but I think you could probably be my best buddy! Real special pals you and me."

"Why?" I ask.

"Because, unlike Miss Allina out there," He points out of the room with his thumb, "You can stay awake a night. Besides, you remind me of me. You're a planner. A trapper too I dare say. Just like me." He gives a giggle, inspecting another piece of paper as he does so, "An alliance? Now we can't have that can we? No we can't."

"Why not?" I ask, slightly taken aback.

"Seifross," He grins, screwing up the paper and flinging it directly at my head, "I thought you'd know! Alliances are for wusses kid. Only guy you need on your side is me."

"You?"

"Yeah, sure, why not?" Cyrian says, "Proper Victor you got here, one of District Eleven's best and brightest or whatever. Me, Dartagnian and Raincaller we're the best shot you got. And, unlike them, I'm under forty. Ain't I?"

"I..." I open my mouth to say something but, before I can, the massive man interrupts me.

"And, unlike them, I didn't win by luck, now did I?" I don't know. I never saw his Games. I mean to say so but, before I can, he cuts me off again, "And, unlike them, I'm here ain't I? And we're buddies!"

"I guess so." I finally manage to say, although I'm pretty sure I don't sound at all convinced.

"Damn right we are!" Cyrian grins, before bending his head left again and pausing, "Yeah, yeah, sure. And if you want it to stay that way, Seifross, then no alliances. Except with little Allina, I'll go with that OK, but only cos they think I should."

"Who's they?" I say, starting to get really, really confused by Cyrian at this point.

"My friends." Cyrian shrugs, "Anyway. You got a buddy on the inside, and that's real useful for you. Just you remember that. No alliances, no stupid stunts and we'll stay buddies. And believe me. You really want me to be your buddy."

He gets to his feet and we stare, awkwardly, at each other for the next few minutes. I can't tell, but I get the distinct impression that Cyrian is laughing at me. There's something in his eyes that sparkles. Something inhuman. I feel like saying something, but then Cyrian claps his hands together, turning and stepping towards the door, a small smile still pulling at his lips.

"You'll like the Arena." Cyrian winks at me as he steps out of my room, "I made a lot of friends there. A lot of good friends. And now they won't leave me alone."

I shake my head as I sit there, alone with my thoughts. It's not a good idea to get on the wrong side of your mentor, so I guess I only have one ally, Allina. That only leaves traps, which, I think, is exactly what Cyrian wants me to do.

I continue my planning, scribbling something down ever so often, until I drift off to sleep where I sit.

Question of the Day: If you had the choice between an alliance, the Careers or the help of a Victor, which would you chose?


	15. Arrival

A/N: As many of you will notice, the list of tributes has now been removed. This is because the tributes have now been introduced so I didn't see it as particularly necessary anymore. I'm sorry if anyone still needed it, but I felt it was a bit pointless to just have it hanging around, especially since it wasn't finished.

I've also put up a popularity poll on my account, so make sure to go there and vote for your favourite!

**The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games**

**Arrival**

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><p><em>Feli Hillside, age 12 (D8 Male)<em>

I have no idea how I managed to sleep last night. Absolutely no idea!

Originally I had planned to stay up all night watching the tapes of past Games that the train's staff had provided for me but, what with the stress of yesterday and the sound of soothing music drifting through the walls from our Escort's room, I fell asleep pretty much as soon as I settled down in my bed and turned the television on.

I wake up just in time to catch the image of a twelve year old boy from the eightieth Hunger Games being run through by a particularly large Career. He's a chubby, ugly kid who looks nothing like me, but the fact that he's my age fills me with a grim feeling of dread. If I'm not careful, that could be me who's being run through in the Bloodbath.

I throw the covers off and step shakily to my feet, shuffling uncomfortably over to where I threw my clothes the night before and pulling them on as quickly as I can. They've been cleaned and ironed thoroughly while I was asleep, and they're still warm, which I might appreciate if I didn't know where this train was heading. I stop to riffle through my desk, on which has been placed a group of panphlets, each containing information on the tributes who I will be facing. I briefly wonder whether anyone else has been given these, or whether it's just my mentor's idea to give us some form of advantage. We'll need any advantage we can get, after all. We're District Eight. We're not going to win without help.

I riffle through the panphlets, tearing off the sections on the Capitol kids and hurling them into the bin. Looking at their plastic faces sickens me and, to be honest, I don't care about the lives of a bunch of jerks who want to watch me die. It doesn't matter that much if I don't read their sections. It's not like I'm going to end up facing them in the Arena.

I step outside of my room, leafing through the papers as I go, and am immediately hit by the smell of food. I don't know what food, I'm used to only getting bread and soups back in the District, but it smells delicious and I find myself drawn, inexorably, towards it. The food turns out to be a spicy reddish stew with a thick sauce and chicken in it, which one of the waiters, the one who isn't an Avox, informs me is a special type of dish based on something from Geneva's heritage. It's a bit too hot for me, although both our Escort and Geneva seem to enjoy it immensely, so I settle with a bowl of cereal with a few spoonfulls of sugar poured on it and sit down next our mentor.

Sevdad Kerin is an odd sort of man. He's almost all muscle with droopy grey hair, deepset eyes and a broken nose which all makes him look rather more like a gargoyle than a human. To add to this, I don't think I've seen the man speak or eat since I first met him yesterday. Even now he's sitting in front of his noodles, just stirring them round and round and not taking a single bite. He looks down at me as I sit there and raises an eyebrow.

"Err. Hi..." I mutter, placing down my spoon and hoping against hope that he somehow missed me fainting in the Reapings. I can't have him thinking I'm some weak loser, even if I am. It'll ruin my chances of getting any sponsorship from him.

Fortunately Sevdad doesn't say anything, which I sort of guessed he wouldn't and instead points to the panphlets I have been studying, motioning for me to open the one on District Eight and turn to my partner's entry. It's pretty obvious that he wants me to start looking for allies and analysing my enemies weaknesses otherwise he wouldn't have given me the panphlets in the first place. Where better to start than my District partner?

After a few minutes of close inspection, however, I can't tell much more about Geneva Harper than I knew when I woke up this morning. I can tell that she has a little brother, and that she's a bit of a prankster with a weird sense of humour, but I'd already guessed that from the fact that she spent most of last night trying to get Sevdad to laugh by cracking jokes, rather than watching the reruns of the Reapings to give herself some advantage over the competition, and the rest of the night talking about how she had been whipped by the Peacekeepers just before the Reapings and trying to show us the scars that cover her back.

The thought of those fresh scars that blister the girl's back reminds me of those pictures of death I was looking at in a vain attempt to prepare myself before the Reapings, which really puts me off my breakfast. I push the chair away and rise to my feet, heading out the door as quickly as I can. Behind me I hear another chair push away as another figure rushes after me down the train. They reach me before I get to my room and spin me round and I stop in shock. I had expected Geneva, or maybe even Sevdad, to come after me, but instead I find myself looking into Melody's checkered eyes as an odd smile plays out on her face.

"Did you get them?" She asks, keeping her voice as low as she can. Her smile grows wider, but I can tell from the way her eyes dart frantically back and forth that she's worried about being overheard. I gulp as her nails scrape at my wrist and try to back away, but find only the wall behind me.

"D-did I get w-w-what?" I stammer, my eyes almost as wide as Melody's smile.

"The panphlets silly." Melody giggles, a sigh of relief drifting over her face. She lets go of my wrist and backs away from me, "The one's I'm not supposed to give you until Training starts. Boy, do you know how much trouble I would have got in an Avox or someone had found out? Just keep them out of sight until then OK!"

I stare at her, my mouth agape. "You gave me these things?" I mumble, holding the panphlets out infront of me. She winces and grabs them, stuffing them inside my jacket and shaking her head.

"Out of sight." Melody sighs.

"Why?" I ask.

"Why? Because I don't want to get executed, that's why!" Melody says, in a voice a kind of creepily cheery manner.

"No." I whisper, "I mean why are you helping me?" She smiles, flashing me a wink before turning and flouncing down the train, back to her waiting meal.

"Wait and see Feli." She giggles, "I think you'll be pleasantly surprised."

* * *

><p><em>Lexi Saint-Helen, age 15 (D3 Female)<em>

Larx.

Oh Larx, Larx, Larx.

Why did you have to do it? Why did you try to stop me? You didn't have to stop me. It was my fault I got Reaped after all, not yours. I could have done it if you had just lived. I could have come back, for you. Only for you. I wish I could tell you that none of this was your fault. None of it was ever your fault. It was me. It was always me.

I wish you could be here. I wish you were here with me right now.

Instead all I have is this elfish bafoon, breathing down my neck as he tries to comfort me.

"Ah, come on girl," The boy, Legend, mumbles as he pats me awkwardly on the back, "Stop crying. I know that guy meant a lot to you or something, but just stop it, yeah? Seriously, knock it off. I've been trying to get some sleep for hours and your blubbing ain't helping me none!" He doesn't even know my name. How can this boy expect to understand my suffering?

I am knocked out of my state of self pity by a quick jab to the head as the boy stands to his feet, slapping me hard around the back of the head. I yelp and turn on him, wiping my watering eyes before snarling through my teeth.

"Didn't your mother ever teach you not to hit a lady?"

"Yep." The boy smiles, his eyes twinkling, "But the old bat never said anything about not doing it to calm down some chick who won't shut up." I gasp in fury, balling my hands up into fists as he stamps out of the room and forcing myself not to say anything unladylike. "Besides," the boy continues, his voice drifting down the hallway, "Chances are one of us is gonna have to die eventually. I mean, seriously, like the Games Makers are ever gonna let more than one of us survive the Games! Not likely!" I hear the slamming of doors drifting down the hallway, and then another explosion of noise as the boy pushes his way through a group of Avoxes and into the showers.

He infuriates me. He spent the evening chained to a chair in the corner of the carriage, which meant that I couldn't change for bed until I was sure he was asleep for fear of the ghastly teen staring at me. Not that I got any sleep though, not with the thoughts of that shooting rolling around in my head anyway. To make matters more awkward, now that they've unchained him, Legend will not stop tormenting me. He spends his time either whinning about how much time I have spent trapped in my own misery or smacking me around like I am some form of punching bag. And I thought that boys my age were supposed to be gallant gentlemen. If all of them are like this tearaway I will be quite happy to return to live with Uncle after my victory, at least until boys grow up a bit.

I suppose it's funny that I'm so confident I can win but, really, I don't see why I shouldn't be. I am a planner. A natural tactician. I do not need the help of my pathetic escort, nor my uncouch partner. I am a Saint-Helen, which gives me an advantage over the others immediately. I have been prepared for this possibility ever since the day I came to live with my uncle. I have seen Uncle's Games at least a dozen times. I've seen the origin of his famous nickname 'Sparx' and I know exactly how he was able to come up with his fantastic trap.

A bright beam of light cuts through my curtains as the train arrives outside the Tributes Tower and I stare out, taking in the faces of the people waiting for us there. There are Avoxes, of course, and groups of brightly coloured stylists and silly looking officials, just like there always is but, in front oof them, right by the side of the tracks, stand a row of children. Stripes and grey skin and gold reflective hair greets my eyes. A checkered sleeved Avox stands just behind a bored teen whose straight spiked blue hair looks like someone lit it with a match and a pair of girls, one snake skinned the other grey stand hand in hand, snickering and glaring at a little boy covered in colourful stripes. A gold leafed girl stands next to a boy with peacock feathers tied in his hair and an orange girl wearing a rather skewed turban, holding her head like it is about to fall off as she stares at a set of pictures a tailed boy is showing her. She's drunk, I can tell. Even though I have no experience of drinking alcohol myself, I did once see a Games in which each tribute was forced to down a bottle of alcohol a day or be killed by a neck brace each was wearing. These are Capitol children. They are part of a world that, no matter how rich I become, I shall never be a part of.

I have been shielded from the outside world for almost a decade but, now that the point has come where my uncle can no longer protect me, I am ready to finally step out and see the sun. To fight and win and return to my Uncle as an equal. I am ready to return a Victor, and to tell Larx he musn't worry. I am a lady now, not a child.

But Larx is dead. The sorrow I have been choking back hits me anew and I sink a little further into myself, tears streeking my face. I can't win this. I can't. If he were still alive, if I could return to him I would win in an instant. I know I can win, I'm the neice of a Victor. I have Victor's blood. I could win, but I don't think I'd be able to bare the pain of waiting to see Larx again. I need to die in these Games, so that he won't worry for me. I can't let him worry for me, even if he is dead, and I can't bare waiting years or even decades before I can see him again, all because I was too stubborn to die.

I have to see Larx again. I have to let him know that what he did was always my fault, never his...

Oh Larx.

I can't win these Games without you...

* * *

><p><em>Pebble Clarkson, age 17 (C11 Male)<em>

Okay. This is just weird. Yesterday I was talking about how I'm no good with understanding girls and that I'd probably never get chosen to go and watch the Games. All well and good, nothing wrong with that, but it seems the world likes to mess me around, because now I'm standing at the train station of the tributes tower, flanked by a pair of girls I know nothing about, both of whom are much, much too pretty for me to feel comfortable with. Sure, one of them's much to young for my liking and one of them's way too famous and popular but, still, Flora is going to kill me. I can practically see her little skin bulbs glowing red as she watches this just because I'm standing near Anastasie Dallas. I mean seriously, Anastasie Dallas? I don't even like her movies! Who thought it was a good idea to stand me next to her?

"So." Anastasie sniffs, "Which District are you with?" She talks in a way that lets me know that she's only talking to me because she has nothing better to do, and would prefer it if I didn't exist at all, so at least she wouldn't have to talk to me.

"District Eleven I guess, man. You know, the one with the crops." I sigh, and a smile forms on her lips. Maybe she likes that District or something.

"Eleven?" Nope, more like she's planning on making fun of me. She grins, jabbing me with an accusatory finger for daring to make her talk to me, "I suppose it fits the theme doesn't it?" She looks around, as if expecting applause, which of course she doesn't get. The other girl just snarls and turns her head away, looking resolutely at the train that is chugging along in the distance.

I'm not very good with girls, but I get the idea that I won't exactly like these two, so I shuffle further away from them, trying to hide myself in a group of nicer looking guys, who are crowded around an old fasioned looking camera. Anastasie sighs in relief as soon as she thinks I'm out of earshot, before turning to the little noseless girl who stands next to her and whispering conspiratorily.

"Flower boy seems a bit nervous don't you think. Weirdo. I mean seriously, who makes themselves look like that? Pity he wasn't put in Distriict Seven, they could have cut those ugly alterations off of him!" She snickers, but the other girl doesn't respond, which I take some pleasure in. Anastasie doesn't seem as clever or witty off screen, when she isn't reading from some stupid script. That's some feat since the girl normally plays really bland chicks anyway. As you can guess my opinion isn't that high of her. I think she's a bit thick really. I try to start a conversation with the group around the camera, but they ignore me, and no one else looks like they want to talk. A striped kid standing near the tower keeps casting glares at one of the Games Makers, who grins apologetically back every time he does so. As I stand there on my own, feeling completely isolated, I start to wish more and more that I could have missed out on the Games and just stayed home with Nathaniel and Flo' instead.

Fortunately, before I get to down in the dumps, the train, which seemed to be taking forever to get here, pulls up in the station. We are instantly grouped and sorted by Avoxes, who pass us numbers and order us from one to twelve, ready for our District 'partners' to arrive. I watch as a six burly thugs get out, each pair of them studiously ignoring the teens who are pushed forwards to meet them. After them come a crowd of non-Careers, who greet their new guests with everything from a fist to the face, courtesy of a girl from District Seven, who bowls over the little tailed kid with the camera when he snaps a picture of her, to a hug and a kiss, which comes from a rather too chummy District Eight girl. A District Nine boy fixes his new friend with a large smile, greeting them warmly but insisting they don't touch him, while a boy from District Ten wheels right past his Capitol guest, but not before stopping to comment on her physical appearance, comparing her to something from an ancient myth called an Oompa Loompa, which she seems eerily okay with.

Personally, I'm quite happy when the two teens who I am greeted by actually respond, one of them with an awkward mumble, the other with a sad smile. They're not bad, both a year or two older than me but what else can I expect. The boy looks sort of nervous. He's not exactly tall for his age but he's covered in quite a bit of muscle. He's a contender all right, just as long as he can keep his hair out of his eyes. The girl's adorable, even though she's a bit older than me. Most people in the Capitol, myself included, are uncomfortable without any alterations, so it's really cute to see a girl like her, with her messy dark brown hair and her original skin colour. She seems to be wearing muddy blue pajamas with little butterflies on them and a pair of boots that clearly belong to someone with bigger feet but, like I said, I don't know much about girls, especially not District girls, so it might be a fashion back in District Eleven. All in all, I have to say I landed on my feet with these two tributes!

There is one thing that turns my blood cold, however, and that's the mentor. A tall, slopey-shouldered guy with a smile that's so wide and toothy I swear someone must have cut it on to him with a knife. It's all I can do to not spend the whole time staring at it, especially when he pushes it right up against my face and starts calling me 'buddy'. He introduces himself as Cyrian Delfont, which I could have guessed, even if I didn't watch the Games. He's always the mentor. Flo' once told me that he always volunteers for the job, which I don't find too hard to believe now I'm right in front of him. I don't know why I was expecting anyone else really. He always does it why should this year be any different, even if the Games are special?

"This here's Allina," He smiles, pointing to the girl, "She's awful sleepy. Can't stay up at night. Probably explains the PJ's. Other one's Hallan. He's my buddy, ain't ya Hallan?" The boy nods and both he and his partner shuffle their feet uncomfortably. Poor guys. I've only known this guy for two seconds and I already get the idea he has no idea what personal space means. I can't imagine what it would be like to have to spend a night with him. I'm glad we have our own rooms because I am not up to sharing a bunk!

"Why are you dressed like a flower?" The girl, Allina, asks.

"Altered." I correct, "I'm altered to look like a flower, man. It's just a thing, you know, I don't want to look like all of those weird neon haired guys with big muscles and no brains. I want to be me, you know? And that means I wanna act like some loopy guy with a flower obsession then so be it."

She nods like she doesn't get it. She's not supposed to. I made it up. I mean, I only met her a few minutes ago. I'm not going to tell her why I look like this. I need to know more about her before all of that. I need to know that I can trust her. My interest in biology has a habit of attracting bullies and, while she doesn't look like a bully, how do I know she won't go blabbing? Best thing to do is distract attention away from me.

"How about the," I look her up and down, "Pajamas? Why are you wearing them?"

"Didn't have time to get dressed," She shrugs.

"And the boots?"

"A friend gave them to me at my goodbyes," She says wistfully, a small smile creasing her face "Said I'd need them more than he would." She giggles a little, like she's remembering a fond memory, and then turns away, seemingly forgetting that the two of us have ever spoken. We stand there for a few minutes but we don't speak anymore. For the moment there's nothing more to talk about.

"So!" A voice declares from behind me just as I'm getting used to the silence. I jump as a thin hand claps me on the back before moving on to Allina and then Hallan, "This must be who I'm working with! Pebble, Allina and Hallan! How good to see you!" The three of us turn as one, staring at the purple skinned stylist standing directly behind us. She seems to be wearing a bikini, fur boots and a thick feather ruff. It's not really my thing, but enough people wear it at my school, so I guess she must be the one responsible for it. "Well now, isn't this fun? I've never had to work with three tributes before."

The words hit me like a truck and my blood turns cold. For a second the world inverts itself, Then there are two worlds. Then I feel sick and I get these weird stomach cramps. It happens every time I'm really, stupidly scared. I don't want to do this and I'm pretty sure everyone but our stylist can see it.

As much as I like watching the colourful parades that are the chariot rides, I have no real desire to be a part of it. I don't want to be pinched, squeezed and shoved into some stupid outfit that only covers the bare essentials and then pushed onto a stupid, rickety chariot. I mean really, I get nervous when I have to go to the swimming pool and take off my shirt in a crowd of twenty people. How the heck am I supposed to deal with wearing some skimpy outfit in front of thousands and thousands of people. I'll faint, fall off the chariot and be trampled by horses. Even if I make it through all of that Flo' will kill me for standing too close to that pretty looking Allina girl as soon as she's able to. Either way I'll end up dead.

"Three?" I ask, hoping that I might have misheard her.

"Why yes," The woman smiles, making me more and more nervous with every passing syllable. Man, what I would give to be able to get out of this ticket right now. It's not even funny. "That's what I said. Three. You get to tag along too, my dear! My, what fun we'll have doing your costume. Isn't this just... wonderful?"

I'm going to say no.

* * *

><p><em>Aleron Baves, age 17 (D6 Male)<em>

This is supposed to be my revolution. My stand. My go at succeeding where stupid Miss Everdeen failed and, much as I hate to admit it, I'm really starting to see why people think these Games suck so much.

Believe it or not, it's not the idea of dying that sickens me though, it's the thought of having to go through this stupid costume fitting thing. Twice in fact. With two of the most annoying people I have ever had the displeasure of meeting!

Firstly, Piper just will not shut the hell up! I mean, sure, I get that she's upset 'cos she's got a little brother or something back home who doesn't know what's happening to her, but does she have to ask someone if he's going to be alright every other second? I mean Jesus girl, you're blabbering to an Avox, how the hell do you think it'll be able to answer you?

No wonder the Peacekeepers had to drag Piper on to the stage. Girl is freaking obsessed with that brother of hers. Like, way more than the rest of her family. At least she's not crying today though, she's just got this weird determined look on her face. When she's not asking about the kid that is.

Man Piper's a dull name to say. Think I'll call her Pip. It's cooler, like 'Al' or 'I'. Reminds me of the gang back home.

Other than Pip, I'm stuck with my weird ass Escort, some chick who won a couple of years ago in shorts and a t-shirt and this Capitol freak. The one who looks like a cross between a candle and a bleeding aeroplane.

Funny thing is, I would have expected the guy who won the prize to be some ultra nerd Games fanatic who knows all the mentors and won't get their ugly dyed face out of my personal space, but this guy is absolutely nothing like that. Long story short, he's a stuck up asshole who doesn't seem to want to aknowledge that I exist at all. I don't think he's actually looked at any of us since I've met him. It's like he's the one who has come here to be punished, not us. Seriously, who enters a competition to go somewhere and then acts like they're completely bored when they get here. I really wouldn't be too fussed with all of that though if it weren't for the fact that my life wasn't on the line. Not that my life ain't normally on the line. Probably why I don't like people like him much actually.

On top of that our Escort's just as airy fairy as ever, and I think the mentor might actually be worse. She's completely nuts. Calls herself Kai and keeps looking my way and winking. Seriously what the hell? I mean, I don't have a girl at the moment or nothing, but I hardly think that a life or death situation is a great time to be making eyes at me.

Did I really just think that? God, this life or death situation schtick must really be getting to me. I'm not thinking straight no more.

I'm pushed up next to the Capitol dude, Sculptor, as the lot of us are bustled through a door towards our stylists quarters or whatever we're supposed to call them. Talk about recoil, dude nearly knocks himself out as he comes into contact with me, stepping back so fast that he nearly goes tumbling backwards into a wall. Fortunately Piper's standing in the way so he just smacks straight into her, getting shoved back into me for his troubles.

Sculptor doesn't seem at all keen on this whole 'being with the tributes' thing. He looks like he's about to explode when Pip pushes him into me, but he swallows it and carries on shambling along just behind us. He's really starting to get on my nerves like that. It's like he's too good to interact with us!

Fortunately for my sanity, we're quickly herded into a silly little room and split up. Pretty soon I find myself not with my Escort or Pip or even that stupidly dressed Sculptor, but instead standing in front of my stylist, stretching my arms out so that the distance from one hand to the other can be measured.

"I'm thinking doctor." One of my prep team, a young woman with very spiky hair carrying a massive pile of silk, velvet and cotton, squeaks as she passes me.

"Hmm, not very sexy is it?" A man with a heavily pierced lip and sky blue hair comments, licking his teeth. Kai nods thoughtfully next to me. I have no idea why she's here but apparently she's allowed to tag along with one of us, so it might as well be the one she keeps simpering at.

"We have to cover the arms of course." My puce haired stylist sighs, lifting one of my arms, which I let go limp, and then drops it to the side, "Do you really have to be so wiry, darling?"

I don't really think I have much choice in that, medicine smuggling and barely any food isn't exactly a lifestyle that cultivates a healthy body. It's a credit to me that I have any muscle at all. I work in a hospital after all! I should look like a nerd.

"Sexy surgeon then?" A silver coloured bald woman asks.

"With all that blood? Eww!" The spiky haired chick sticks out her tongue and the blue haired guy fans himself and shakes his head vigorously back and forth, almost slashing his ears on his massive collar as he does so. "How about we go for... patient?"

"That's even worse!" The man gags, "All of those scabs and pus! I say we try something a bit less... eww. How's medicine man? You know, with the mask and the sticks? Voodoo and all that."

"Oh yes," The bald woman sneers, "That's not racist at all."

In all of this my stylist has barely spoken. Instead she just stands looking at me, her finger resting just below her lip, her eyes sparkling, prowling up and down me, taking in every detail. It's really starting to weird me out.

"I think gangster." She says, turning away from me just as I'm starting to get really uncomfortable.

"But what does that have to do with medicine?" The pierced man asks.

"Dunno Roon, but I'm getting a real 'gangster' vibe off of him." The stylist replies.

"Gangster's good." The three of them turn on me. Guess they weren't expecting me to speak today. Can't blame 'em, I've barely spoken since I got here. They probably thought I didn't have a tongue. Or maybe my voice is what surprised them. I admit it's a little harsh, but that's just how I sound.

"Gangster?" One of them asks. Don't spot which one. Don't care really.

"Yeah, sure," I drawl back, "Gangster. I'll go with it."

My stylist claps her hands together in joy and jumps a little on the spot. "Perfect! Roon, Ezzy prepare a place for fitting, Vokaru find somewhere for Miss Victor to stand." The woman continues to throw her arms about wildly, ordering the prep team to run hither and thither, bustling Kai into a corner and laying out about a million fabrics on the ground before finally turning to me. "Mr Babes was it?" I don't respond but she carries on as though I have, "Perfect! Mr Babes, would you kindly pop your clothes on the chair over there." My face flushes.

"My clothes." I growl, twisting my mouth into a snarl. There's a long uncomfortable pause as the reason why Kai chose to follow me and not Pip or Sculptor finally sinks in. I don't know what to say. I would have expected her to be more mature. Jeez, she's alrealdy giggling.

"Yes Mr Babes. Just pop them on the stool over there and, when you're ready, we can comence with the full body wax." My jaw drops. Full body wax? Man, this wasn't part of the deal! "Well, how else are we going to fit you."

I try to keep as cool as I can and not think about any of that as I swagger over to the corner of the room and pull my shirt over my head, all too aware of the fact that there are no less than five people in this room, only one of whom is male, and nowhere to change with any dignity. Heck, that guy's a fasion designer so he's probably gay too!

Yeah, I don't think I'm gonna like doing this.

* * *

><p>Question of the Day: If you were in the Games, which bit of the pre-Games sessions would you hate the most?<p> 


	16. Chariot preperations

A/N: Thanks for all your reviews of the last chapter, and to all the people who voted on the poll so far. At the time of writing this Vylia Stone and Echo Tektra are currently at the top, and three people have voted. Worried about your favorite tribute getting Bloodbathed? Then go and vote and it's more likely that they'll stick around (what do you mean you don't want to vote. Come on it only takes a minute).

Also I'd like to take this opportunity to plug the 24tributes24authors fic that I'm currently a part of. Unlike me they update regularly and are almost at the Bloodbath.

**The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games**

**Chariot Preperations**

* * *

><p><em>Amaya Nil, age 16 (D5 Female)<em>

Since I'm blind, and have been ever since I was a little girl, I never really look at myself in a mirror and I never really spend that much time sorting out my appearance. After all, it's not like I can see myself or know which colour matches my eyes or what goes with what so I just don't usually give it that much thought. I remember the guys at training used to make jokes about how I always turned up with odd socks or some stupid shirt on or something but, really, if it doesn't matter to me how I look, why should it matter to anyone else?

For this reason, I am not a particularly big fan of full body waxing.

To start with it is ungodly painful. I've been nearly beaten into a bloody pulp with a chair during training more times than I'd like to remember and even that was never as bad as a single second of this. Every single hair that is ripped from my skin is like a needle being jammed into it. For all I know that might be exactly what they're doing. I don't even understan why they're doing this. It just seems so pointless to be forcing me through so much pain just so that I can look 'attractive'. What does 'attractive' even look like anyway? Apparantly it means having no hair. Forgive me if I don't get it.

Another strip of wax is ripped off of my stomach and I howl in pain. One of my Prep team hushes me, reassuring me that that was the last one, but I barely hear her, the pain is so intense.

Forget the Games, this is the real torture! They've even tied me down because, after the first one I went crazy and tried to flee. Suffice to say I didn't even make it to the door, but I think it was a brave attempt.

I stand as soon as they untie me, refusing my stylist's hand when she sticks it out to guide me over to the podium where they're going to be designing my 'outfit' and begin to make my way over. It takes me a couple of attempts to get up there but, when I finally do the stylist and her prep team stop their chatter and become completely silent. They're like scientists, studying some peculiar specimen although, unlike scientists, their not really doing this for any practical reason. They just want to dress something up.

So their kind of like a cross between scientists and little children.

As the quiet drags on I begin to feel increasingly uncomfortable, shuffling my feet and listening for sounds. Something, anything to take my mind off of my current predicement.

Apparently I'm not in the same area as my District partner because, when I listen, I can't hear him, or anything that sounds distinctly like him. There's the sound of some girl singing and running around emmanating from the wall behind me. I guess her name's Harper, because I can hear someone chasing her around in there shouting.

"Miss Harper! Miss Harper! For the President's sake Miss Harper come back here, we're trying to fit you!" This voice is followed by laughter and then the sound of something falling over as Miss Harper's pursuer crashes into something and falls over. Well, at least someone's managing to have fun.

Drowning out Miss Harper's laughter, I try to listen into the other rooms as someone places a tape measure around my waist and scribbles something down.

I can here some guy called Cesse being complemented in the room off to my left. I can't quite hear it but I'm pretty sure the women speaking says he should be very proud of his lovely tail. I'm not sure if I'm just weird, but I'm fairly certain most people don't have tails, so I must have misheard her. The boy asks if he can take a picture of his costume and his told that he can. Seriously, I'm the only person who isn't enjoying this thing.

Fortunately though, it doesn't seem like I'm alone. Listening through the wall off to my right, and the one furthest away from me I can hear the sounds of a struggle and the terrifying sounds of someone being waxed. From the sound of their protests they're a guy, although quite a bit younger than me, and they might in fact be enjoying the sensation even less than I was.

"Please do stop making such a fuss," A woman's voice drifts through the wall, "You're giving me a headache. Look it's not so bad once you get used to it."

I beg to differ.

It's a couple of minutes before they finish measuring me and taking notes and then they draw a curtain across my podium. One of my prep team says that it's so I won't see what my outfit looks like before it's finished, so I hit her. I don't like smart alecs, and besides, it's a good payback for all that waxing.

Being alone in the room is long and boring, I look around for a bit and pretend I can see. It's a stupid, petty thing to do really, especially since I have no idea what anything looks like at all. After all, no one's described it to me and, even if they had, description of colours and shapes is no good to someone who's never been able to see them.

I get off my podium and wander around a bit, groping at the walls until I find what I think must be a towel and wrap it around myself. It feels odd, kind of leathery and rough, but it's better than nothing, so I take it anyway. The rooms fairly big and, without the restraints wrapped around my wrists and ankles anymore the chair in the middle is actually fairly comfortable, if a bit cold. Listening out I can tell that I was wrong about my previous assessment of Zane not being nearby. Turns out he's in the room next to me, which I only find out when I accidently wander into the opposite wall. I can't hear him, but I think I hear someone mention his name. Either that or they're saying 'Fame hold still' but how many kids called fame would there be in this place?

The room to the right has quietened down now, and there's a soft crying emmanating from it. The kid in there, whoever he is, is doing what I want to do right now. Sit down and have a cry. He's lucky. If I try to cry, if anyone even finds out that I feel like crying, I'm just going to have everyone take pity on me and try to help me out, and that's the last thing I want. I'm going to prove to everyone that I can do this, with or without their help.

I hear a door open and turn to where my stylist is coming from, what I think is a determined grin spread across my face. Behind me I can hear a yelp, followed by an 'oww' and someone sighing. It sounds like they've finally caught Miss Harper then. Shame. I was hoping that at least one of us could get away from this torture.

The stylist stops when they see me sitting back in the chair in the middle of the room. At least, I think that's why they stop, because the next thing they do is scream "My coat" rip the thing I previously assumed to be a towel off of me and bustle me back onto the podium.

"There," they huff, throwing my costume straight at me and turning away, "Dress yourself. Then we can deal with your hair.

But I thought we'd already done my hair.

* * *

><p><em>Look Kain, age 12 (C2 Male)<em>

Capitol children aren't generally too concerned about clothes. I don't mean fashions or the like, everybody's obsessed with that. No, what I mean is it really doesn't bother a Capitolite all that much whether they're wearing clothes ot not. It's not like a Capitolite wouldn't be uncomfortable walking around without any of their precious clothes on. It's just that we're not as easily embarassed by this sort of stuff as District children.

I mean, we have public baths, public changing rooms and we use a gymnaseum in the literal sense of the word. Why would a simple Chariot Ride changing room make us jumpy?

That said I am sort of jumpy. Unlike the Districts I've been crowded into a room with three other tributes and, while my stylist is very nice and there's a nice curtain drawn around my podium so I can't be seen I'm still a bit nervous. I mean, for a start I'm about to appear on the Hunger Games, dressed up in something that I don't get to choose but gets made regardless of how I feel about it. That's not a good thing. Secondly I know for a fact that the other people in this room are Dallas Orchid, Xiomara Bellum (the daughter of one of the camera men) and Anastasie Dallas. All of them have at least some connection to the Games and all of them are much older and much more famous than me, other than Xiomara, and I'm feeling kind of out of my league. I'm pretty sure the only reason I'm here is because T is my mother's boyfriend. A fact I'm really not that happy about.

Fortunately though I didn't have to go through waxing, since most of us Capitolites who can afford it have had this thing done to us when we were kids that stopped our hair growing anywhere that's seen as unattractive, so waxing, which I hear is really painful, isn't an issue for us. Good thing to, because the girls in my class spent all of last year chattering about how some Career got so mad at being waxed that he punched out the guy who was waxing him. And that was a Career. Imagine how badly I'd handle with that sort of thing! For the first time in living memory I thank the fact that I was born a Capitolite.

What is an issue however, is my stripes. My stylist, Aurora, says they're really hard to design a costume around that looks good. I told her that I got them when I was younger and that they meant something, so she said she'd see what she could do, which was nice of her.

I really don't know how I ended up learning all of my prep teams names, they just all introduced themselves when I met them. There's Aurora, Jun, Hal and Kelus. I don't know how useful it is knowing all of their names, because I don't know if I'll ever need them, but I guess it can't be that bad a thing to add a few names to the pile. It might give me some chance to actually enjoy these Games if I have some friends to talk to instead of having to watch all the gore close and personal.

"There," Aurora says as she steps back into the room, holding up a bright golden armour with a colourfully striped shirt underneath it. "That's the best I can manage, like it or lump it." I thank her, before slipping the stuff on. It's not too easy to get into and, after a solid three minutes of trying, and failing, to get the thing on, a member of my prep team by the name of Jun finally steps forwards to help me.

My first thoughts are that I really wouldn't like to wear this for school. The metal is really, really cold and I'm not really sure I like the whole 'warrior' schtick of it but I guess I'm going to have to lump it if I want to stick around here with Careers. Not that I really do but I don't think I'm allowed to ask to leave now I've been chosen. Besides, I haven't even seen it on me yet. I take a look at myself in the full body mirror and am surprised to see the handsome figure staring back at me. I can't argue it doesn't suit me. The gold armour makes me look more muscular than I really am and, if I'm honest, pretty heroic. I'm not a kid in this, I'm a dashing soldier and my stripes are a multicoloured warpaint painted onto my face before a battle. There's even a hole in the top of my helmet for my mohawk to come out of so it doesn't get all messed up during the chariot rides, which is thoughtful. If I didn't know better I might even mistake myself for flex my muscles a bit. Aurora giggles at me and I pout. I hate it when people make out that I'm cute. I'm not cute. I'm not supposed to be cute. I'm supposed to be funny. Cute makes me seem like a little kid. In fact that must be why I'm so nervous in these Games. There's only one person here who's my age and he's a District kid. Nothing like me. So I guess I am the kid of this competition. Of course, that doesn't mean I have to enjoy being the kid now does it?

After a few minutes of staring at my new outfit, checking myself from every angle to make sure that there aren't any weird gaps in the armour or anything I finally pull the curtain back and step outside.

The room is large and very swish, with a row of emaculate sinks lining one wall, decorative green wallpaper with gold trimmings covers each wall and there are a few large, plush sofas in the middle of the room for us to sit while we wait.

The other three are already there, and I have to say that, while I like my costume, I think they got the better deal. Except for possibly Xiomara. I don't know the girl but, judging from the turban she was wearing when she got here, she's more into fortunes than she is meat. The cowprint dress really doesn't suit her and the idea of all the cows that to be killed for that thing kind of makes me sick. I don't think she looks all that comfortable with the meathooks on her shoulders either. It looks like she's going to take her eyes out if she tries to move her arms.

Dallas and Anastasie, on the other hand, look fantastic. Anastasie's wearing some odd take on a lumberjack's outfit which must be far too impractical for any nurse in their right mind to actually wear. The skirt is much too short, the neck of the shirt is much too low and the hat has these weird decorations on that would probably kill any epileptic who looked directly at them considering how sparkly they are but, at the end of the day it doesn't matter. It's designed to make her look beautiful and, to be honest, it's done exactly that. Anastasie grins at the attention as she flounces up and down the room, trying to work out the best way to walk to get the most sponsors. Apparently people are sponsoring us as well now. I don't know why, but the thought of being 'sponsored' makes me feel uneasy.

But by far the most infuriatingly good costume is that of Dallas. It's deceptively simple but there are a few things that draw my attention which I really don't like. Firstly, he's muscular enough to go shirtless, which kind of makes me feel a bit inferior. The other thing that makes me mad is that cape of feathers. Real, peacock feathers. I mean, seriously, Aren't peacock supposed to be an endangered species or something? He looks really comfortable in the costume though, even though it must really tickle, and he's strutting up and down with just as much swagger and self-importance as the creature he's dressed as. Now that I think about it, I'd hate to wear it myself but, hey, I guess there's no accounting for taste.

I let the issue slide and take a seat, watching the screens that take up the wall of the room. Each screen displays a different, each containing a tribute or Capitol guest in various stages of outfit fitting. There's even one for our room although, looking around, I can't see any cameras. I guess it really is impossible to get some privacy in the Hunger Games.

It's a few moments before a burly Peacekeeper steps up to the front of the room, a sheet of paper clutched in between his hands.

"Ladies and gentlemen," He reads, obviously unused to actually being polite, "If you would be so kind we would like to escort you now to your chariots, where you will be riding alongside the tributes as their guests of h-h- Hho-nuur." Anastasie nods impatiently, pushing past the man before he even has time to finish speaking and swaggering off down the hallway. It might just be me, but I'm pretty sure I hear him mutter, "Stupid broad, see how you like it in the Arena," as I pass him.

Must just be me. Even the Capitol aren't that messed up.

* * *

><p><em>Faiza Tahiti, age 17 (D1 Female)<em>

Jason must be loving this.

I mean, I'm supposed to be a big, tough Career and, whenever we're together, that's always the way I act. He's the wuss working at the factory and I'm the big, tough Career, even if he has been taller than me since we were eleven. And where is Miss Tahiti now? Wrapped up in some stupid reflective dress being helped onto the Chariot by some equally stupid reflective Capitolite because I can't bleeding walk in a dress, especially not ones that are far, far too long and made of weird metal. I can't walk in these heels either. I swear if they were any sharper they'd actually break through the floor and kill some guy on the floor below. Seriously, who in God's name invented heels. Probably a man. Or a Career who really liked kicking people. Either way there more useful as a weapon than they are for walking. I wouldn't actually be too surprised to find a few pairs in the Cornucopia.

I slip the heels off and get down from the chariot, just as the sparkly Capitolite is about to get me onto the thing. It's a slight comfort to see her trip and slam her stupid reflective face into the thing, but only a slight one. Despite the fact that the girl looks like a complete idiot and appears to be perpetually drunk she still looks better in the dumb golden dress than I do. Even Altair, the quiet creep with the unnervingly big smile and the gaudy silver armour, looks better than I do in my rusty bronze dress. Apparently someone thought it would be an idea to dress me up in red to fit with my hair colour. Natural redheads are uncommon in the Capitol or something. Really I don't care about my hair, I just want them to actually put some effort into making me look good.

I take a walk around, strutting up and down between the chariots and watching the other tributes. The concrete floor tickles my feet and my dress clatters around me like a falling draw of cutlery, but no one really pays me all that much notice. After all I'm a Career, I'm supposed to swagger around seeking attention.

It's a prime time for looking for allies, even for the Capitolites, and already I can see little groups forming. On the Capitol side of things it's just kids chatting. There's a handsome Avox dressed like a fish being blathered at by some blue haired guy dressed up like some sort of doctor, a guy with a camera is standing near an orange skinned girl snapping photos of her like they're tourists on holiday and some good looking guy dressed up like some peacock pimp is standing near a grey skinned girl and a snake girl. I don't pay any of these stupid Capitolites much attention. It's more important to look for allies and enemies than it is to spend my time dwelling on the relationships between a bunch of people who came to watch me win.

Now, clearly my first job is to fix a Careers alliance. Clearly I'll be the head, because Altair isn't a proper Career and I don't know any of the others well enough yet to trust them with leadership which means, obviously, that I have to take command. Not that I'm complaining or anything, personally I was always planning to lead from the front, but it's such a shame that I have to do everything by myself.

First things first we have me and Altair, so I guess that's two. The District Two chariot is already full and ready to go. There's some Capitol kid on the back who looks kind of sickened at the thought of standing so close to the two kids up there. Dunno, maybe they stink or something. The guy, Luke I think his name is, is massive and the girl looks tough too. They're both chatting and laughing with each other as the chariot has its finishing touches added. I begin to make my way towards them but, before I get there something I would never have expected happens. As I watch Luke smiles and punches the girl (Leighton?) on the shoulder. She grins at him and punches back and I feel myself become slightly apprehensive. While they're obviously Careers, they're not normal. There's a rivalry between them all right, I can see it written all over their faces, but it's not a bloodthirsty win or die competitiveness. It's more like a brother and sister thing, which just creeps me out. I mean, I'm not even that close to my real brother, why the hell are they that close to each other?

I stalk away, determined not to speak to them. There's no reason that I'd want to talk to a pair of tributes that are that close, especially not without allies. People like them can tip a whole alliance into disarray, what with always agreeing with each other. I can't just talk to them. I have to deal with them carefully, discretely. I can just bulldozer in and try to split them up, it would cause the whole alliance to fall apart. God, why do I have to even do this crud.

Looking around I can only spot one obvious place to get allies from, and that's District Four, but my heart sinks when I catch sight of the tributes from that District. The girl is thin as a twig and not at all muscular. She's obviously not a Career so I really can't tell what the hell she's doing here. Did she just decide that she wanted to get killed and so didn't let anyone Volunteer for her. What a dumb girl. The guy, while muscular, is disappointing. He's really short for one and doesn't look too bright. This is rather spectacularly disproved when the guy sees me and begins to walk over to me.

"Faiza Tahiti." He smiles, prenouncing my name with far more accuracy than either Altair or the silly Capitol girl managed, "It's good to finally meet you. I take it you've assumed the role as head of are little pack." The boy's sharp, I'll give him that, but he has this weird 'received pronunciation' way of talking that I've never heard in a District kid before. It's like he's been bought up to be a public speaker or something. He could be a worthy asset for us getting sponsors, but it it still makes me slightly on edge to meet a Career who acts like this, as oppose to like some delusional psycho with no idea how weak he actually is.

I nod, jaw agape, not really knowing what to say and he steps out of his chariot and over to me.

He introduces himself as Freddy Black and 'inquires as to whether or not I have found any suitable targets'. After asking him about seventeen times what he means I finally weed it down to 'who are we planning to kill in the Bloodbath?' Well, other than everyone, I guess I actually have to start choosing a few targets.

"Any suggestions?" I ask him and he shrugs.

"Five girl is blind, Ten boy can't walk. Easy targets. They don't seem to fear us though so I'd advise intimidation first." He's given it some thought, but anyone could have picked those two as easy Bloodbaths. I try to be a bit more sane.

"What about the District Eight boy and the Twelve girl."

"District Eight's too obvious. Everyone's going to be going after him. District Twelve would be a good target, she's a bit of a wreck, but I heard her talking. Sounds like she's already got help. I would guess her District partner, since she hasn't had enough time to meet anyone else."

"Yeah," I reply, casting my eyes towards the muscular guy dressed as a miner at the back of the chariots, "That could be a problem. How about your District partner then?" Freddy jolts to attention, clearly he hadn't been expecting that particular question. I personally thought it was a rather obvious question. After all, she's an utter failure of a Career if she is one and, if she isn't, then she's just some dumb chick who didn't want someone who could do a proper job going to the Games and decided to stick it through. Either way she's just asking to be killed.

"Out of the question." Freddy growls, "She may seem to hate my guts and she may not have spoken to me since we got on the train, but she's still my District partner. I'd prefer it if she didn't die in the Bloodbath."

"Aw. That's so romantic," I simper and the short kid turns away, his eyes darkening.

"What about District Nine?" He's clearly trying to change the subject, but I go with it anyway. I look over at a tall, smiling boy. He seems like a decent guy, chatting to the twelve year old from eight and the girl from ten. "He doesn't seem to be too much of a problem."

"Yeah. He's certainly surrounded himself with the weaklings hasn't he," I say, making a mental note to add the girl from Ten to the list of Bloodbaths.

"And District Eleven seems weak." Freddy says with a nod. "So how many does that make?"

"Six or seven I think," I reply, counting it up.

"That will do to get started I think," Freddy mutters, "It's good to have an ally Miss Tahiti." Without another word he returns to his chariot, pushing the girl out of the way and taking his place. She glares daggers at him but he doesn't seem to give her much attention at all. Maybe I was wrong about them liking each other. Probably not.

Snickering, I return to my chariot, safe in the knowledge that everything is ready for the first day of training.

There's still one guy who needs to go on that list though. Someone who needs to die quickly. Quickly and suddenly in the Bloodbath before he can make anything else go wrong. That'll teach him for daring to see himself as my rival. For daring to think he can beat me, the head of the Career pack, when he's never been trained to start with.

I have a target, his name is Altair Blade.

* * *

><p><em>Yelena Sofiyanski, age 15 (D9 Male)<em>

Before we start, I'd like to apologise for my attitude the last time you heard from me. You have to realise that I'm not usually like that, my family always brings out the worst in me. Especially my sister. She tries to act so like she wants me and my dad to stop fighting, but I can tell that she's on his side. What else could I expect? A father is closer than a crazy brother after all.

As for Vylia's hand. I hope we can move past that. I don't like being touched and I'm afraid a knee jerk reaction caused more trouble than I anticipated. It was an accident and no real harm was done, so it'll be better for all involved if we can just forget that whole ugly affair and start afresh.

Now where were we? Ah yes, the Chariots.

To start off with, I'm not really sure what I'm supposed to be. It looks kind of like my clothing is made of black wires, except their thinner and made of something like silk. I've got some weird cog stuck to my shoulder and a long trailing black cloak. Really how it has anything to do with my District's trade. Then again I've never worked in my District's trade so I don't know what it has to do with what our District produces. To be honest I really have no idea what we _do _produce. Heh, funny isn't it?

Anyway, since the Chariots don't arrive for another few minutes and I don't have anything particularly worthwile to do, I've decided to take a wander. Since I never made any friends, with a few notable exceptions, thanks to my father ostricising me from society, I thought it might be an idea to make a few, now that he's no longer here to stop me.

I have to say I've only found a few nice kids around here. My partner, for obvious reasons, didn't want to be too friendly after I accidently squished her hand and the Careers were an obvious no. Yeah, sure, I really want to be surrounded by a group of trained killers who just have me around because I'm an alright fighter. No offense to any Careers out there but, that's not exactly my 'ideal' Games.

If I want to make friends in this Games I'm going to make friends who won't stab me in the back as soon as I turn it.

That's why I've chosen who to stand with very carefully. First is Feli Hillside. He's a nice kid and he spends most of the time regailing me with tales of his crazy Escort, and how she slipped him a few panphlets or something while he was on the train. Thinking tactically I guess he could be quite useful because of that but, thinking normally, and not like some psycho Career, he's just a nice kid who it's a pleasure to be around. As well as him I've also been talking with Merlyn Drake of District Ten and Allina Wheats of District Eleven.

Well, less like talking to, more like talking at. The two of them don't really speak. I guess it's the stress of the whole affair. At least Merlyn seems to be scared by it all, Allina was perfectly happy until she tried to speak to a pair of tributes over by the District Five chariot. One was a blind girl by the name of Amaya, the other a boy resting on crutches called Echo. It didn't go too well. She went and asked if she could do anything to help them and they... pretty much bit her head off. I don't think I've ever heard a pair of people sound angrier, or more indignant than those two. Allina pretty much shut up after that, which was good because, to be honest, she doesn't take too much sense.

"Do we look like we need your help?" I remember Amaya snarling, "Hey? Why the hell are you even offering it? Your supposed to be trying to kill us aren't you? Yeah right."

"I-I was j-just asking if you..."

"Yeah, well don't! Seriously, you talk to me again, I swear I'm gonna sniff you down and knock your block off!" Allina had barely finished reeling when Echo started up.

"Aw, don't worry toots, it's OK." He soothed, lowering himself down into his wheelchair, "Thing is we don't need your help. Gonna do this all by ourselves me and glasseyes here. You'd just get in the way. Don't think it matters anyway though, you're probably just gonna die in the Bloodbath anyway so sure, you can come along."

By that point Allina had been pretty much in tears, although she refrained from crying. Tough kid, I can see my little sister bursting into tears because of just one sentence from either of these jerks. Allina stared sadly at the pair, barely able to stammer out her next sentence. "I just want to help."

"You wanna help," Echo had sneered, "That corn stalk dress you're wearing? Take it off. Those of us with eyes'll thank ya!" After that Allina had burst into tears and stormed off towards me. It seems dumb but I really respect the girl for not storming off before then. Girl seems tough. Not really tough, but tough enough to be a good ally. I expect that most of the other tributes will turn her down in any alliances because of that whole 'beaten by a blind girl and a boy who can't walk' thing but really have you heard those two. They are nasty.

Really I'm surprised by just how well I'm doing. I'm even managing to touch them without wincing. Well, almost.

"So what do you think?"

I look up to see Feli staring up at me. He looks kind of funny in his silly multicoloured costume, so I try not to laugh. I don't think I do that well but I guess that's up to you to decide.

"Hmm?" I ask, raising an eyebrow and staring at Feli.

"I asked what do you think?" I have no idea what he just said and I say as much, to which he rolls his eyes, "Do you think she likes me?"

"Yeah, sure I guess." I mumble. I have no idea who he's talking about but the answer seems to perk him up.

"Of course," he cheers as if it were me who came up with the suggestion, "She likes me! That explains it! I have a fan! A fan in the Capitol! That's so cool! Kind of creepy, but really cool!" With that he turns on his heel and hurries off down the hall. All I can say is that he's a weird kid, but I don't want to see him die. Shame he's only twelve really, if he were older he'd have more of a chance.

The remaining three of us stand silently for a couple of minutes before Allina wanders off, teary eyed, to join her weirdo District partner, a guy who is starting to look less and less sane and more and more like a certain Mentor, if you know what I mean.

Several minutes later, Merlyn finally opens her mouth.

"You really think she likes him?" She asks.

"Well, yeah sure, why not?" I reply. I still have no idea what any of them are saying.

"It's kind of weird isn't it?" She frowns, raising an eyebrow.

"Dunno. Is it?" I mutter and she giggles slightly. It's a dry sound. She's lauging because it's expected of her, not because she finds it funny. I could have guessed as much anyway from the monotone voice.

"Funny." There's no humour in that voice, I'll tell you that, "Look, I'm building an alliance and, since you seem like a nice guy and no one else is ever going to join up I thought I'd better ask..."

"Do I want to be in an alliance." It's the question I've been waiting for. The question I have wished someone would ask since I got here. I'm accepted.

"Yeah." The girl appears deadpan, but I can tell from her eyes that she's slightly taken aback, "So, what do you say. Are you in." I want to say yes. I want to tell her that I'd love to be a part of her alliance, but I'm afraid that would raise suspicion. I have know idea what to do in a situation like this. You probably think that sounds funny, but I've never really been accepted like this. How am I supposed to react?

"I'll think about it." I finally manage to say. The girl doesn't look as dejected as I thought she might. In fact she smiles and nods.

"It's a start." With that she turns away, marching towards her chariot as the Claudius Templesmith, his voice emmanating from somewhere or other commands us to do the same. I pass Echo on my way over there.

"So," He grins at Amaya as he passes, "Blind?"

"No." She snaps sarcasticly, "What was your first clue?"

"No one in their right mind would wear a dress like that." Echo grins, "Also the glassy eyes help. Seriously though, I'd rather go naked than be seen in something like that. Your welcome to take that suggestion by the way. In fact I'd thank you for it." Amaya glares over his head, she must be assuming he's her height since she can't see the wheelchair. Then she cocks her head to one side and smiles.

"You've gotten shorter."

"Well done." Echo grins, a wicked twinkle in his eye.

"Either that or your talking out of your ass!" Amaya grins at what she believes to be a witty response and Echo laughs, clapping his hands together.

"We have a winner ladies and gentlemen! What a girl, what a girl! That's not quite the worst joke I've ever heard." Amaya smirks and goes to punch him in the face. Unsurprisngly she misses, since she's aiming at head height.

"Wow," She mutters, "You really are short."

"All part of the package baby." Echo grins wider, winking at her, which is a pretty futile effort.

"Woah." Amaya chuckles dryly, "Slow down, Romeo."

"Hey, Romeo got nothing on me!" Echo protests as a pair of Peacekeepers lift them into their chariots, "Love girl's with attitude by the way."

"Thanks, I guess." I look over to them as I climb into my own chariot and the doors open. Jerks or not I have to admit the pair of them are pretty funny. District One's chariot begins to drift out the door and, just before the roar of the crowd hits, Echo raises himself onto the chariot bar and, resting heavily on it, shouts out to Amaya over the crowd.

"So, glasseyes, seeing anyone?"

* * *

><p>AN: Question of the day: Which five tributes would you kill in the bloodbath? (This includes Capitolites, because if you couldn't tell that they're going into the Games too, then my ridiculously obvious foreshadowing isn't working!)


	17. Chariot rides start

A/N: A belated happy April fools to the lot of ya! Thank you all who reviewed my last chapter and of course to everyone who has voted on my poll (all seven of you)!

This chapter we delve into the horrors of the Chariot rides. Watch in terror as the tributes are adored by thousands! Quiver in fear as they are forced to stand very still and try to look tough! Scream in horror as they move very slowly around the city pulled by horses in fancy dressing gowns...

Seriously, how am I supposed to make this chapter seems scary? It's just not! Well anyway, stuff will actually be happening in this chapter so enjoy!

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**Chariot Preperations**

_Iris Beakley, age 15 (D4 Female)_

Okay, count to three. Nice and calm. Gotta stay calm. On in three. Gotta stay calm. Gotta stay calm. Deep breath. I just need to try and not to think about where I am. I've got to try not to think about the creepy posh guy standing on my left flexing his muscles or the Capitolite who hasn't spoken yet. Oh why do I have to be here? Why couldn't I have just stayed in District Four?

No. I can't think that. If I hadn't come out here some idiot Career would have just come out here instead and they'd be preparing to massacre little children. I've saved some poor child from dying horribly in the Arena by coming out here and, better yet, have stopped some psycopath from grabbing the 'glory' and ruthlessly hunting down children for their own amusement. It doesn't matter that I don't want to be out here, what matters is that I've stopped some creep who did want to be out here from sating their disgusting bloodlust. I'm a hero. A protector of the weak and downtrodden.

I really wish they hadn't stuck me in a swimsuit though.

This one isn't even a nice, modest swimsuit like the one I was wearing at the Reapings in that silly old protest. This is some uber bizzare thing I wouldn't even choose to wear in my worst nightmares. To start of with it's a skimpy bikini, which covers far too little of my body for me to feel comfortable. I'm pretty sure my bikini top is just a couple of shells connected by a thread that looks way too thin and my bikini bottoms are pretty much the same thing, except they're designed to look like seafoam. They've even placed a little tiara on my head to my head to make me look like some cute princess, which is actually exactly what Pizzo called me before we set off. I guess, from looking at Freddy, that we're supposed to look like merpeople who have just climbed out of the sea. At least that's what he looks like in his tiny 'foam speedo'. He's got the muscles, and the guts, to pull off looking like some great king of the ocean. The other guy looks pretty confident too even if he is dressed like a fish. The really strange thing is that he's handsome enough to pull off a fish costume, even if his checkered arms do look really silly when you can see where they end and the tail keeps getting in the way of where he's moving. They both have the muscle and looks to make themselves look good in this sort of thing. Me, I just feel naked. Heck, I think I actually felt less exposed when I was being fitted for this stupid costume, and I wasn't even wearing anything!

In front of us the second of the large Career District chariots trundles out into the open and is met by the cheers of the crowds. The two Careers, who had been chatting cheerfully to each other a couple of seconds before, immediately stiffen, as though they've just been struck by lightening. Wide, confident smiles spread across their faces as they wave to the crowd. The bright silver, slightly Peacekeeper like armour that adorns their forms glinting in the sunlight. They point at a few random people and bask in the flashing cameras in a way that I can never hope to as long as I live, which might not be that long at all. They're typical Careers, lapping up the praise they get as they prepare to go out and murder children. One of them gives the other a thumbs up and she smiles, punching him gently on the shoulder. It's a good act but it's all designed to draw sponsors. They're probably planning to kill each other even now, days before the Games have even begun. Next to them stands a little boy, he can't be any older than thirteen, and my heart goes out to him, being stuck with two vicious Careers. He looks uncomfortable on the chariot, like he doesn't want to be there at all but really has no choice, which I suppose is just how the rest of us feel round about now. He looks good in his armour though, and he knows it. No matter how hard that kid's trying to look angry and sullen, he can't keep the glint out of his eyes. I wish I was able to look that care free but, of course, I can't. My life's at stake.

Looking a bit further forwards I can see District One, bedecked in their bright costumes designed to look like precious metals. The Capitol girl isn't very steady on her feet and she's wrapped her arms around both Careers shoulders and has a big goofy grin on her face. Neither tribute really looks like they enjoy having the girl hanging off of them, the guy has a glare on him that looks like it could melt steel and the girl has this sneer on her face that makes it obvious she's still trying to save look tough despite the weird girl hanging off of her. It isn't like there's anything they can do about it though. The Chariot isn't big enough for them to dodge out of her way and just knocking her under the chariot would mean they wouldn't get enough sponsors, which, of course, is the worst possible thing a they could possibly do in their opinion!

They're Careers. None of them have souls.

The Capitolite boy passes me a note and gives me a friendly smile. I don't really get why he doesn't talk. He's a good looking guy without too many alterations and he's at least better company than Freddy. I'll have to find something on him when I get those panphlets our mentor said we'd be getting. I don't know, maybe the guy's just shy.

The paper reads: 'Anything wrong?'

I shrug in response. "I'm nervous I guess. I really don't want to go out there. Especially not dressed like this." He smiles and looks me up and down before passing me another note.

The paper reads: 'What's wrong with dressing like this gorgeous?'

I blush and look away. Okay. So I guess he's not shy. Not shy and still staring at me. Why is it that as soon as I'm dressed like this some guy wants to chat me up? Where was this guy a month ago, before I was sentenced to death?

"Y-Y-You don't speak much, d-do you?" I finally manage to stutter out, my face burning. He mimes a laugh and writes something else down, before opening his mout wide, revealing a row of neat, surgical scars covering the inside of his mouth and what's left of his tongue.

The paper reads: 'Can't'

I give a squeak of surprise, jumping in shock and very nearly toppling out of the chariot. The boy gives a gurgle of surprise and Freddy grabs me tightly by the arm, refusing to let go until I've regained my balance.

"Watch how you stand." Freddy mutters as I tug my arm out of his grasp, "That sort of clumsiness will not help in the Games and I most certainly will not be around to watch your back."

'Yeah, like I'd want your help anyway, you murderer!'

That's what I want to say to him but, just like always, I can't. I don't know why I can't. He's a sick, monster after all, I should have no trouble giving that creep a piece of my mind but, it just doesn't seem right.

Ahead of us the District Three pushes off into the crowded streets, wrapped in flashing lights and weird glowing tube things which make them look kind of like party decorations. They obviously haven't got as _talented _a stylist as the Career Districts and it shows. There's no way they're going to stand out among all of these Career Districts. Poor kids.

It's then that the kid, Legend Faktyr, does something that surprises all of us. Eyes twinkling, the kid chucks the sparkly staff-thing (seriously I have no idea what it is) his stylists thought it was a good idea to make him hold, into the crowd, where it is instantly grabbed by eager Capitolites looking for a souvenier, and swings his leg up onto the railing of his chariot. With one quick movement both feet rest firmly on the railing and all eyes are on Legend. He stands there, arms outstretched, a cool smile spread across his face. There is a moment of silence, and then the crowd explodes. The boy chuckles and, behind me, the Avox kid scribbles frantically at his papers, before turning it around for all of us to see.

The paper reads: 'Showoff' and then deteriorates into expletives.

Showoff or not though, I can't deny the boy's got talent. I have trouble even walking along a plank three feet over the water back home, but this guy's managing to walk up and down the tiny railing, even though the whole chariots moving under him, and he's making it look easy!

My Avox partner's not the only one who thinks that Legend is being a moron though, as both girls who share his chariot seem startled, Lexi actually grabbing out to pull him back as he leaps and prances around on top of the chariot.

"What on earth do you think you are doing Legend Faktyr?" The girl cries, her tone almost as contrascending as it is indignant. In response, Legend simply winks at her and spreads his arms wide, soaking up the applause.

"We all gotta get on top Lexi!" Legend shouts, "Unlike you, my uncle ain't a victor! How else am I supposed to get sponsors other than doing something crazy?" The girl gasps in fury but Legend just laughs, and continues to dance around.

But he makes a good point, even if he is an ass. How is a tribute like me supposed to get noticed? I'm not a Career. My parents aren't Victors. I'm not particularly attractive. I'm nothing special. What am I supposed to do to get sponsors?

Should I do something crazy like Legend did? Well obviously I can't do the same thing. Even if I had the balance I'd just look like a copycat. I could adress the audience, only they wouldn't hear me over their own cheers. I could do something really, stupidly embarassing, but that would probably lose me votes. I don't have the figure to turn any heads and there's nothing I can really think of to do that would make me stand out.

I'm still thinking as the chariot begins to rumble out of the gates. Next to me Freddy shuts his eyes and begins to take deep breaths, composing himself. He flexes his muscles and cracks his knuckles, preparing for the moment of truth. The Avox boy gives me a wink, holding up another piece of paper for me to read.

The paper reads: 'My name's Jhoker, by the way. What's yours?'

"I-Iris," I croak, too deep in thought to really register my responses. If I had been I'd probably be more embarassed by all of this. I've never had a guy hit on me like this before. At least not one who is actually attractive.

I gulp as the chariot breaks into the light and the noise. In the few split seconds I make my decision. I know what I'm going to do.

I don't do anything. No theatrics. No epic declarations. I don't even try and strike a provocative pose. I just stand, still, my face set in a grim frown, staring out over the crowd. The applause washes over me, scrubbing me of all my plans and my hopes and, when it is finished, I feel a little weaker, a little more helpless.

Just some stupid girl standing on a chariot in her underwear, staring up at a crowd who doesn't care about her.

I may be a hero, but I sure as hell am not going to get any sponsors acting like this.

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><p><em>Jo Harris, age 17 (D7 Female)<em>

Just my luck! I could probably kill half of the tributes in these Games with my hands tied behind my back and yet I get dressed in the stupid costume that's bound to get no votes at all! Ahead of me District Five are dressed up in weird skintight suits which are decorated with all sorts of little tubes and bits to make them look like, I don't know, DNA or something. It may look stupid but it's still better than what I'm wearing. The really dumb thing is that they don't even care. The guy is fidgeting around and kicking his feet like he's not used to wearing shoes and the girl's blind! She wouldn't care if she was wearing nothing at all because she can't see herself! District Six are dressed even more bizzarly than them, with the girl wrapped in a black brides dress and the boy dressed up as some sort of weirdo gangster. Their costumes don't even have anything to do with their Districts! Their dullard pianist that they have for a Capitol guest is actually dressed more 'District like' than they are, at least he's wearing a doctor's uniform. I can only guess that those costumes have something to do with their past and all the Capitol crowd are going crazy over the reference. Personally I don't know and I don't care. Their costumes a weird but they're not nearly as bad as mine.

I'm a tree.

Not even a particularly good tree either. I'm one of those silly pantomime trees that kids dress as when they're not good enough to act in a play. It's ridiculous, I can barely move in this thing. I guess it's not a dress, which at least means I don't look like some stupid wuss, but I still can't stand the thing!

Cyrix, I think that's her name, keeps snickering at me and flicking the little plastic twigs that cover my costume. The girl is really bugging me. I've tried to smack her in the face at least twice so far but, considering that I can't move my arms, it didn't really work out that well. I ended up tumbling out of the chariot and had to be helped back into the chariot by a small army of Peacekeepers. I'm pretty sure the kid with the camera snapped a couple of pictures of me falling over, which just makes the whole thing a hell of a lot worse. Not just because it's embarassing, but also because it ruins my chances to get a few sponsors.

My theory is that the Gamesmakers are trying to screw my chances. They've decided that, out of the kids who broke the law and are going to have to do this without help, I'm their least favourite, and so they're trying to get me bumped off sharpish. After all, I can't really survive if no one sends me any food now can I? Or at least, that's what they're hoping.

They think I'm a criminal. They think I'm a violent thug who attacked some bitchy Peacekeeper girl for no reason. So they think that I'm some dangerous lunatic that they can't give any advantages to unless she's absolutely going to win. So they make sure to tell me that if I have any allies I'll die and they wrap me up in a tree so I don't get any sponsors.

It's clever, but there's one big problem with it.

How the hell do they expect to stop me from joining an alliance?

I mean, seriously? 'Don't join an alliance or we'll kill you' doesn't really work as an incentive when I'm entering a Games that's trying to kill me anyway.

So yeah, I'm going to be making an alliance. Why shouldn't I? If they're going to make sure I don't get any sponsors then I'll just have to make sure I'm hanging around with the kids who get all the stuff instead.

I look behind me, checking for suitable allies and immediately wish I hadn't. The District behind us, District Eight are possibly the only people worse dressed than me. Both of them are kids and both of them have been dressed in what I can only describe as underwear made out of multicoloured cotton wool. It's not a good look, considering neither of them are old enough to make something like that look sexy, which has to be the only reason they were dressed like that by whichever creep did their costumes. Really I can't help thinking their older, better looking Capitol partner would do better in that sort of costume, and what he's wearing is way more modest.

In fact, looking down the chariots there are only a few tributes who look like they'd be good in an alliance. There's the guy from District Five, the guy and maybe the girl from Nine, the guy from Twelve and a bunch of Careers (yeah, that's really going to happen). The only other person I can see as a possible ally is Fines Germaine, the gy standing right next to me, which, come to think of it, is just perfect. I don't think he's had time to make an alliance yet and he has absolutely no idea what will happen to us if we win together. I guess we'll just have to get to the little problem of which one us is going to die when it comes along.

Fines will make an OK ally if I can get him on my side. I mean, he's a big guy, and he's got a lot of muscle on him, so he's bound to get a few sponsors just for that. The only problem is that he's barely spoken to me, or anyone actually, since he got Reaped. I know the Capitol go nuts for the quite guys and there's always at least one guy who tries to act like one every Games but, seriously, Fines has barely even looked at me since the Games began. I'm pretty sure that's not normal.

Point is, I have no idea what's going on in this guy's head. I guess the same could be said for every tribute making an alliance, but at least most of them have actually spoken before they ally and have at least some idea what their allies want or act like. I mean, sure the Careers don't, but that's not really an alliance, that's just a way to protect themselves. I don't know what he like or how to get on his good side or anything like that. How the hell am I supposed to go about making an alliance with someone I barely know?

"So," I finally decide to say. It's not the greatest conversation starter I know, but I'm hoping his response might give me some sort of clue about what kind of guy he is.

Fines turns his head towards me, glancing at me out of one eye which I can just see beneath his wide straw hat. I don't know why but he came wearing that same hat. I guess his stylist thought it was worth builiding it into the lumberjack costume he's wearing. How come he gets a lumberjack costume and I have to be a tree? I mean come on, even Cyrix got to wear something at least mildly pallatable. Sure I don't think the weird lumberjack snake costume would suit anyone, least of all a freak like her, but at least she's not a tree!

There's a long, awkward silence as Fines regards me, before finally responding.

"Yes?" Well. That doesn't help me work out what to say next.

"Uh." Smooth Jo. Real smooth. "Wanna join an alliance?" Yeah, keep it up girl. Maybe next sentence you'll manage to choke on your own tongue.

The boy stares at me like he can't quite believe that I just asked that. To be honest I can't really believe that either. Am I really so blunt and so stupid?

Actually, thinking back to that Peacekeeper girl, I kind of guess I am.

The boy takes a few deep breaths, lifts his hat slightly to get a better look at me and, finally, gives a short, sharp nod.

"You look tough." He says, a thoughtful frown set on his face. I can't believe it! He actually accepted my offer? Well, at least now I know a little bit more about Fines Germain.

He's an idiot.

He has to be! There is no way in hell a guy with half a brain would accept the offer of a short chick dressed as a tree, no matter how tough she looks.

And believe me I can hold my own. I'm only asking this retard because I need the sponsors. If I had any chance of getting those I'd just go straight in on my own. I could make it. After all, how many tributes can say that they're going into the games having already beaten a squad of Peacekeepers with nothing but their hands and their sharp wits?

At least I'll be able to outwit him then. That's good to know.

"Ooh," Cyrix leans over and giggles in my ear, her snake face ripping into an atrocious smile, "A new alliance! Any plans?"

"Why should I tell you, Hissy?" I spit. Despite my harsh tone, however, the girl just bursts into laughter. It's kind of creepy.

"Aw come on." Cyrix whines, "You can tell me! I won't tell I prooomise!" I guess it couldn't hurt to tell the silly Capitolite. Even if she does blab it won't matter all that much. By the time I take my eyes off her to give her a chance to talk I'll be in the Arena. Then it will hardly matter who she tells, just as long as Mr. Head Gamesmaker doesn't find out until it's too late.

"I need sponsors." I tell her bluntly, "And Mister Quiet here is my ticket to sponsors. He looks tough, I reap the benefits."

"Seems kinda unfair." Cyrix surmises, "What's in it for Mister Quiet then." Fines coughs next to me, and I sigh, racking my brains. What's _is _in it for him?

"An extra pair of hands." I say, "Someone to talk sense in to him if he goes crazy. Someone to watch his back. Plus he gets to hang out with a hot chick like me!"

"Nice." Cyrix snickers, "So, any ideas on how your going to get these oh so important sponsors?"

I'm actually starting to like this girl. She may be annoying as hell and just plain ugly, but she asks the right questions.

Perhaps a demonstration will show her my plans. I grin, painfully twisting my hand out from in between the fake plastic twigs and gripping the front of Fines shirt. He stares at me, his face set in exactly the same thoughtful frown as it has been for the entire chariot ride. He reaches out for my hand, but he's far too slow for me. With one swift movement and a shower of broken plastic twigs I pull my hand directly downwards. Fines gasps in surprise, hunching over as I tug at his shirt. There's a monumental ripping sound followed by a loud crack. The entire crowd hears the noise, despite their own cheers, and turns to look at us.

The thin fabric that holds Fines shirt together rips to shreds, revealing a chest of toned, tanned muscle. The girl behind us on the District Eight chariot gives a little squeak of surprise. Fines and I turn round and stare pointedly at her as both her and her District partner turn a bright red and fidget uncomfortably in their ridiculously skimpy costumes. The girl behind them looks away, wrinkling her nose and behind her the District Ten guy's face lights up into an unholy grin as he pulls himself as far forwards on his chariot as he can and begins to wolf whistle and whoop at the pair of us. On our own chariot, Cyrix titters nervously, a blush tinting her green skin a weird shade of purple.

The other chariots ahead mostly don't react, being either too self absorbed, too focused or too blind to bother looking around at us.

Cameras flash and flicker around us as Fines straightens up and frowns across the parade, flexing his chest muscles. Really I wasn't expecting this much of a reception, several of the other tributes are dressed for more scantily than he is now. Maybe it's more to do with the fact that his shirt exploded than it is that he's shirtless. Capitolites love that kind of show.

Personally, I expected him to be more embarassed than this. I just ripped his shirt off after all, he could at least act a little shy. It might get him a few more sponsors.

It's only then that I look down, realising at that instant that my tree suit is practically hanging off of me, my actions having broken through a few more structural neccessities than I would have liked. I shouldn't have made a comment about those kids from Eight wearing too little. That was just asking for some ironic punishment. Well, at least I know why Tektra was heckling now. I'm sure he must be loving staring at my butt. Bloody cripple. I'll make sure to hack that stupid grin off his face personally if it's the last thing I ever do.

I hope Fines thanks me for this.

The teens of the Capitol sure do!

* * *

><p><em>AN: Wow. Guess there really is a lot more to write about these Chariots than I thought! Chariot Rides will continue next chapter... Sorry for those of you who are like me and hate chariot rides!_

* * *

><p><em>Question of the day: If you could give one piece of advice to one tribute what would it be and who would you give it to?<em>

_Bonus question: Why am I taking so long to update (go on, see what you can come up with. No response is too stupid)?_


	18. Chariots and Evening

A/N: Welcome back and thank you for all your feedback on your last few questions. I think wildone got closest to what was actually keeping me from updating, though if anyone else wants to take a guess feel free. As many of you will notice Echo's becoming a runaway success on the poll, which is good because I think I write him quite well. It still doesn't mean anything though. For all you know he could still die in the Bloodbath.

On another note, I've just noticed something horrible. In my last chapter I completely confused myself, putting Cyrix in a prominent position in **completely the wrong District**! For anyone who noticed, sorry. I'm planning to swap her and Cesse's District, since it's easier to do that than rewrite my latest chapter. Sorry for all the confusion but I'll get it sorted out ASAP.

* * *

><p><strong>The Ninety Fifth Hunger Games<strong>

**Chariot Rides and Evening**

_Hilson Brak, age 17 (D12 Male)_

I love this chariot lark! The crowds! The cheerers! The girls wearing practically nothing!

Ah man, forget that magazine I tried to smuggle off of the train. This place is paradise!

Well I've got to enjoy haven't I? There's no way I'm going back to District Twelve. Not for all the magazines in the whole universe!

Not alive at least.

If only my partners were as enthusiastic as I am. Neither of them seem particularly impressed with whatever the heck it is they're wearing. It looks like a mining outfit made by someone who had no idea what mining was actually like and was both blind and had completely no idea what the word fasionable actually meant. Kind of like the Five girl if someone sucked her brain out. They stand either side of me, gazing in opposite directions, not speaking to me or one another. Which I have to say I'm sort of okay with, seeing as I don't particularly like the Capitol Kid. She's a stupid, whiny little girl with no nose, hot pink hair and these stupid wings sticking out of her back that keep jabbing me in the side. All she's done since she got here is talk and talk about what a great Career she'd make and glare at things. Seriously, she's just standing there, staring daggers at every single member of the crowd she passes. It's kind of disconcerting.

She's just some stupid kid at the end of the day, so I really have no reason to talk to her.

I'm a bit more worried about poor Hanna. Yeah that's what she wants to be called apparently, Hanna. I guess it's so I don't get confused over her and that girl from Six having the same name. Either way I feel for her. She hasn't stopped shaking like a leaf since she mounted the chariot, and she's starting to look paler and paler. I mean, I offered to help her and all, but how am I supposed to deal with this girl? I guess I should act like a big brother but how am I supposed to do that? I don't have a big brother, I just have _him_ and he didn't exactly teach me anything about how to look after a girl three years younger than me who's freaking out because she's gonna die soon!

I shake my head. Man, I'm starting to freak out now too. I can't do that. I gotta stay alive just long enough to make sure she makes it out of the Games and back home, then I can get this over with and never have to go home. But until then I gotta stay strong, since I talked myself in to babysitting the girl. She's counting on me. There's no way I can let that chick down.

Hanna looks round at me as I flash her a massive, crooked smile, wrapping my arm around her and pulling her close. I feel her stiffen up and I relent slightly, stroking my hair back and winking at her.

"Calm down yeah?" I reassure her, "We aren't in the Games yet. Just try and relax till we get there." She nods slowly and pulls away from me. I'm not sure whether my little speech did anything, but she seems to brighten up a bit after that.

I would've made a good older brother. Shame _he_ had to go and ruin a great life for me. Seriously. If he died I would've just been able to go get adopted by a nice family, but the dude had to stick around. Man he sucks.

I shake my head, trying to distract myself from the thoughts of that man. Kreote warned me not to think about stuff that makes me mad. He says it puts you off center, distracts you from your target or something like that. It's all Peacekeeper talk to me, but Kreote seems alright. He's not as nice as Richardt but, then again, he's not as big of a wimp either.

Looking for a distraction, I turn my eyes to the chariots in front of me. It's not the best sight I've ever seen. I'm glad I'm more than a few chariots away from Districts Seven and Eight, their costumes are so ridiculously skimpy that I think even I would find it hard not to be embarassed. District Nine looks alright. I can't really tell what they're supposed to be but they look cool, which is the main thing, and their nice enough. I think, from little I've seen, I prefer the guy. The girl's a bit too haughty for me.

District Ten really gets to me. They look alright in all that cowprint and the meathooks are cool, but it's the tributes themselves who bug me. The girl's just way to cold and emotionless for a chick that young. And the guy? Well, I like a good looking girl as much as the next fella, but there is such a thing as being descrete and gentlemanly, as opposed to acting like a gigantic misoginist. I mean what the hell? If that kid were able to walk I'd really like to sock him in the jaw. Thing is I kind of feel sorry for him, so I don't think it's that good an idea to take him out. It's a real dick move and, just from a strategy point of view, it'll lose a lot of sponsors, not that I'm really looking for any. I'll let some Career guy take the hit. They at least deserve it for being creepy murderers.

District Eleven has a neat idea. The guy looks kind of gaunt in his corn cob costume, but it suits the girl. And I mean really suits her. It shows of an admirable amount of her leg and really fits her figure. Wowza!

What? I said you had to be descrete. I'm not heckling her or anything creepy like that Echo brat, so cut me some slack!

A few minutes of (descretly) oggling the girl in front and occasionally chatting to Hanna about our plans in the Arena and we finally reach the central square of Panem. This is it. The place where, every year, the tributes line up in neat little rows and prepare for the President to give their speech.

As always it's my least favourite part of the pre-Games. The President's speech drags on and on just like always. It's not even new material. I'm pretty sure it's exactly the same speech as last year. The one about how we're so evil and the Capitol's so great and blah blah blah everything in the Capitol is perfect and everyone is always happy and stuff. And then she talks about how Katniss went and ruined it and no one cares. I mean seriously, it's just sad. We get enough of the ego driven speeches about how much we suck from Sabal, we really don't need to listen to her.

There's a couple of minutes where no one's particularly listening to what stupid miss 'I'm the President of All of Panem' has to say, in which time I lean over Angel, nudging her out the way slightly, and begin a conversation with District Eleven.

"Hey there beautiful," I grin, taking a few seconds to activate my swag first, "How you doing?"

The weird boy with the tattoos and the red hair stares at me wide eyed. "Are..." He gulps, "Are you talking to me? Be... because I already have a girlfriend thank you so I... I mean I'm flattered but I'm taken."

"Really? 'Cos your eyes are saying single and looking for a good time," I wink suggestively and the boy looks like he's about to faint. My grin grows and I burst out laughing, "Nah just kidding ya dink. I'm trying to talk to the pretty young think next to you. You know, Allina Wheats or whatever." The boy nods shakily and moves out of my way, letting me get a good look at the girl. "Hi." The girl stares back at me with a nervous smile.

"Uh, hello?" She says, fidgeting uncomfortably.

"So, your Allina Wheats then? Mind if I call you Ally?"

"Well actually..." She looks uncomfortable, so I decide to quickly move on.

"Sure, sure, silly nickname huh? 'Cos I'm silly like that, yeah? Names Hilson by the way. Hilson Brak, but you can call me Hilly if you want." Ally doesn't know quite what to make of it. She gives a tiny nod and then squirms a bit more. "Hey Allina, you OK? What's the matter? It ain't the Games getting you down is it?"

"Well sort off..."

"'Cos it's like I was telling Hanna here just this morning, you don't have to worry about it until we actually get to the Games. Just enjoy the ride!"

"Well, actually uh, Hilson..."

"Call me Hilly."

"Sorry. It's just, it's not the dying in the Games I'm worried about. I'm in an alliance already, so I should be alright..."

"Oh really." I smile, leaning forwards in feigned interest. Seriously though, it would have been nice to get her in an alliance. She's about my age and kind of good looking. It would have been fun.

"I was just trying to help but..."

"And now! A short message from our wonderful Head Gamesmaker, Zitheneals Denair!" In an instant every tribute jolts to attention and stares at the stage. It's rare for the Head Gamesmaker to speak after the President. I can only remember one other time they did it. In the Eighty Seventh Games the then Head Gamesmaker Miltes Xangorna got a chance to grace the stage to tell the tributes that this year they would be receiving no sponsorship due to the discovery of an undercover betting ring that was rigging the sponsorship. I was nine at the time and even I knew that was bad news. Suffice to say that, whenever a Gamesmaker gets the chance to speak, it's not a good thing.

"Ladies and Gentlemen." Zenair began, wheezing heavily as he spoke, "Tributes of the Games..." He pauses and draws in a long, bitter breath, "Esteemed guests. I have very important news. Life changing. Well, life ending if you will." The audience chuckles and Zitheneals joins in, spluttering out his own grim giggle above the audience. It grates against my ears and makes me wince. I want to cover my ears but I know that's not a good idea. Next to me Hanna is shivering. She looks like she might cry again. Angel's still being a stropy little monster. She just rolls her eyes and then snickers along with the rest of the audience. A few of the Capitolites don't laugh, the guy with the red hair just looks gaunt and, in front of us, District Nine's guest goes pale, like he's drunk. His whiskers and tail droop and he stares around, forcing out a terrified laugh along with the audience. I get a glimpse of his eyes as he looks at me. There scared eyes alright, but not in the same way as Hanna's. There's something off about them, like he doesn't know why he's scared and that's what scares him. There's probably some big word for it, but I don't know it, I'm not a poet.

"I have what will be," Zitheneals continues, "For some, horrifying news. But for most I am sure it will be a welcome turn of events, and one that will up the stakes, so to speak, of these, our wonderful, wonderful Games." The crowd cheers and I groan. This ain't gonna be good. "Well, that's enough stalling I suppose. Let's get to buisiness! Our honoured guests..." Zitheneals hisses down at them, peering over the balcony at the twelve teens who now stand awkwardly in the chariots, trying to look inconspicuous despite their silly tattoos, stupid hair and weird be honest they don't do that good a job. It's nice to see them squirm for a chance, as oppose to having to watch my fellow tributes break down.

Infront of me the Pete guy from District Nine jolts uncomfortably and begins to shiver. His camera, which he's been holding the entire time, drops through his hands and hangs from his neck, swinging gently back and forwards. Despite the fact he looks like a freak I feel the dude's pain. Zitheneals creeps me out too. It's nothing big.

"You are now to be considered tributes. From this moment onwards you will train with them, fight with them, die with them. The only exception in this matter is that your families will, of course, be compensated for any injury that you could sustain. Capitol tributes will sleep on their District floor, but will be allowed free reign of all floors. Capitol tributes will be trained by the mentors of their District. Capitol tributes will be expected to perform for the Gamesmakers along with their Districts. And, of course any and all Capitol tributes to escape the Arena will be rewarded in the same manner as a District child. Thank you." There's utter silence as Zitheneals stops speaking and steps away from the microphone. For a single moment no one speaks. No one breaths, not even the District children speak, although a few of them, that brat from District Ten among them, have horrifying smiles spread across their face.

The crowd is for a second silent. No one reacts.

Cesse Pete breaks the silence. He collapses and slumps off of his chariot, hitting the floor with a thud.

The crowd explodes.

Around us each of the chariots start moving as Yelena lifts Cesse onto the back of the chariot and it begins to move, with Yelena having to hold the kid on so he doesn't tumble off. The girl with the golden skin looks like she's gonna be sick, the kid with the stripes looks both terrified and furious at the same time and I'm pretty sure that the girl with the orange skin is actually trying to fling herself from the chariot so she can check if Cesse is okay. Most of the other Capitol 'guests' look just as shocked, and their District partners look relieved that the bad news wasn't something worse. I have to admit that I'm sort of OK with this. At least we're not getting our sponsors cut or something dumb like that.

The girls either side of me react in completely and, in my opinion, really weird ways.

Hanna, for one, gets all jumpy and shuffles closer to me. Really I'd thought she'd be relieved like the rest of us, but if anything she seems even more twitchy.

"You know we're gonna have to fight them too, right?" She whispers, and I nod.

"Yeah, sure I do. No biggie. They're Capitol kids, they'll go down easy."

I don't believe that though, as I inspect the kid next to me. Angel doesn't look sad like the other kids. She's beaming from ear to ear, her dark eyes fixing in turn on every one of her new enemies. Despite her name her smile looks more demonic than anything else as she grips the side of the chariot.

"I get to be a Career," She whispers to no one in particular, "I get to kill them all. Fantastic."

I gulp. I'm not going to enjoy meeting little miss pink hair in the Arena. She creeped me out before I knew she was some psycho who actually liked this sort of thing. At this moment I wouldn't be all that surprised if she burst in to flames, turned into the devil and dragged us all off to hell.

But by far the worst thing about this is the crowd, throwing themselves up against the walls all around us. A few of them have tears in their eyes and their faces fixed in scowls, but those are by far the minority.

They're not protesting or roaring in anger. They're cheering as they wave their flags back and forth. They're baying for blood. As far as they're concerned the families are getting payed off, so it doesn't matter that their kids are going to the Games.

Above us, I can imagine Zitheneals Denair stalking out with a big grin on his face. He's done it. He's finally made a Capitol so depraved that they don't give a damn about sending their own people to their deaths.

Poor kids.

* * *

><p><em>Cesse Pete, age nearly 13 (C9 Male)<em>

My head hurts.

What was I doing last night?

What day is it?

I'm going to die.

I sit bolt upright, awakened from the stupor I was lying in by the memory of a few moments ago. At least it feels like a few moments. It could have been days ago. I don't know. I remember standing in the chariots, listening to Zitheneals Denait giving a speech to the Capitol Guests. I had this fuzzy memory in my head. It was something I really didn't want to remember, but knew I couldn't avoid, no matter how hard I tried.

It had something to do with bells. Bells and impending death.

And then it hit me. Just as he said the word tributes. They're sending us to the Arena. They're sending us to fight Careers and muscly tributes and all sorts. And I'm going to die. I know it. There's no way I can fight tributes. I'm not a fighter. I'm just some kid with a camera! I can't take on tributes!

Talking of my camera, I need to see if it's okay. I roll over on to my side, realising as I do so that I'm lying on a bed that, even by Capitol standards, is luxuriously soft. I guess I must be in the Tributes Tower then, so I'm still condemned. At least it's comfortable here.

It doesn't take me long to find my camera lying on its side next to the bed. I stretch my arm out to get it, bt immediately wince as pain shoots through my system. I stare at my arm for a few seconds as I become aware that my arm has been bandaged up and my shirt appears to be missing. I groan, repositioning myself so I can use my other arm and reaching out to the camera, wrapping my hand around it and gently pulling it off of the desk and onto the bed, where it bounces slightly, before coming to rest. Opening it at the back I check out it's chip, before running my uninjured hand along it, searching for cracks. Thankfully it doesn't seem to be damaged, and after a couple of minutes checking through it I realise that everything's still there. I think I might even have more than the last time I checked. Stupid girls sending me those stupid pictures. I guess I can't really stop them now I'm sort of famous.

One mail catches my eye, though. Fortunately it doesn't have an attachment, which means no pictures, but it is sent by Xiomara, which is really what catches my eye.

The message reads: 'Hi Cesse, glad to see your awake! You okay?'

I sit bolt upright, staring around my room, until I spot her, sitting on the chair behind me, rocking backwards and forth and smiling from ear to ear.

"Hi Cesse!" Xio beams, "Glad to see your awake!"

I blush, rapidly pulling the covers that cover my feet up to my chin and stare at the girl sitting next to my bed. She giggles at me and gives me a funny look, like she's making fun of how nervous I am.

"Wh-what are you doing here?" I squeak. Really, it's not so much the fact she's in my room that unnerves me, even if that is really kind of stalkerish. What creeps me out is the fact is her. She's fun to be around but she's kind of creepy, especially considering she's wearing my shirt.

"I came here to see if you were alright!" Xio grins, readjusting the turban on her head and peering down at me, "You went all weird on the Chariot Rides." She springs to her feet and begins to give a demonstration of what I did, starting by beginning to shake and look around and ending by toppling onto my bed, and straight on to my injured arm. I yelp and jolt away from her in pain, almost toppling out of my bed and on to the floor. Fortunately I manage to right myself just before I plunge off the side and onto the ground for a second time today. "Oops, sorry. Anyway, it was just like the time we met, you know, when you fainted. Are you sure you haven't been drinking something silly Cesse? Because that's a really stupid thing to do just before you go to the Games." I nod my head blearily and turn to her.

"Why were you in my room then?"

"Well, you see, I was really worried for you so I thought I'd come and see if you were okay! But then my meathooks got stuck in the lift and I found it really difficult to get through the door and stuff," She fixes me with her big purple eyes, "And I saw your shirt was really big for you and colouful and nice, so I decided I'd try it on. And it's really nice!" She indicates to what looks like a pile of sharpened metal lying in the corner of the room and I immediately feel even more uncomfortable. I'm a pretty liberal guy, and I'm okay with just about anything, but I still don't particularly like the idea of a girl sneaking in to my room and stealing my shirt while I'm asleep. It reminds me too much of a very similar experience I had when I was ten which I never quite got over. I take some time to decide what to say, before eventually twitching my whiskers, flicking my tail and saying the only thing I can think of saying to the girl.

"Err, you're welcome, I guess." I mutter, and the girl squees and claps her hands together gleefully.

"Great!" She squeals, "I knew you'd be okay with it! Thanks Cessy!" I stare at her dumbfounded as she rolls around on top of my covers, repeatedly squishing my arm, which I have to say I don't mind as much as I did the first time she did it, before sitting heavily on my tail. I close my eyes and give a gasp of pain. She apologises rather too profusely, before shifting her body weight slightly to the left and off of my fifth, and most favorite, limb. She then smiles at me, her dark purple eyes flashing as she pats my fluffy tail. I'm sure it's not her intention but, unfortunately it really hurts. I guess it's the thought that counts though, right?

"Thanks." I gasp, before pulling my tail out from under her and stroke my tail protectively. As I stroke my tail my mouth begins to feel rather dry. I smack my lips and begin to look around for something nice to quench my thirst. "Man, I need a drink."

Xio nods calmly and slips off of the bed, walking over to some sort of drinks' cabinet and flipping it open. A couple of bottles line the inside of the casing and Xio picks some orangey concoction and pours a couple of cups, gulping one down and passing me another.

The drink tastes, rather expectedly, sort of like oranges, and has a certain fizzy kick to it. I guess it's okay and it certainly sates my thirst, but I can't say it's really my thing. It just tastes too tame for me. I'm more a fan of stronger tastes.

"It's non-alcoholic," Xio tells me, "You might not know it, but alcohol's actually a mind controlling agent used by the Capitol to make people act weird so they can raise a zombie army, and you don't want to be a zombie just yet, after all, we're gonna be in the Hunger Games soon!"

I have absolutely no idea how any of that was supposed to make a lick of sense, but I guess it is a good idea for me to stay off the alcohol, at least until I find a way out of these dumb Games.

I slowly drain the glass and the lean back, stretching out and twisting my tail a bit to get the blood circulating around it again. It's a relief to have Xio off of me, but that means I have to look at those silly jeans her stylist wrapped her in. I'm sure they suited her original costume or something but, combined with my skin tight shirt with its weird fiddily bits, it just makes her look like she doesn't know anything about fasion.

The relief is only temporary though as, mere seconds later, she plonks herself back down on my bed, this time carefully avoiding my tail.

"You know," She starts, "You kind of got lucky fainting when you did. I saw this flash of light just after you fell off your silly chariot thing. Merlyn told me it was probably just a camera flash, but Merlyn's really boring. I think it's more likely that it was some sniper taking a shot at you."

Any other day I'd probably point out how stupid that is, but I'm feeling too dazed to do so right now and I'd never get a straight answer anyway, so I just skip that conversation and move on to the next question. "Who's Merlyn?"

"She's my new 'District partner'," Xio giggles, "She's really boring. Hey, did you know she's named after a fictional wizard. Oh, by the way, you should come to the dinning hall. This stripy kid is going beserk at some Peacekeeper about being in the Games. He keeps going, 'Oh you can't do this to me! Don't you know who I am? I want to speak to Mr T! Ooh I have stripes! Fear me!'" She giggles so hard at her own stupid impersonation that she almost falls off of the bed and I roll my eyes, "Oh, and there's this weirdo grey girl trying to recruit us all to her alliance! She called me Turban girl, so I don't really like her, but you could come and talk to her if you want!"

It's really bizzare how much I feel I know about this girl despite only having met her this morning. Already I could tell anyone who would care to listen so much about her. She's nuts, she's bubbly, and she really likes my tail. It probably sounds really sad, but I think this girl might possibly be the best friend I've ever had. She's certainly the only one to ever stick around with me after I'm sober and boring again.

Which is why I'm not going to enjoy bursting her bubble. As fun as it is sitting around and just listening to her bounce off the walls like some crackpot, I have to ask her this, as much for my own sanity as for her.

"Aren't you worried about the Games?" I ask Xio.

"Not really. Why would I be worried about the Games?" My jaw drops. That was not the answer I was expecting her to give, even though I've learnt to expect the unexpected from this girl. I swear this girl isn't human. She's like some beacon of madness which lulls you into a false sense of security and then makes you go as nuts as her. It takes me a couple of minutes to wrap my head around the answer before I feel sane enough to rephrase the question.

"We're going to die, doesn't that bother you?" I emplore. She gives me a sideways glance, rocks backwards slightly on the bed and then grins.

"Not really. I don't know actually. I haven't really figured it out yet. Ah well, I guess we get there when we get there."

"Your a bit nuts."

"Nah, I'm just a bit mystical. I mean, if this was the only life we got we'd have been given a pretty bad deal right?" She doesn't give me time to answer before just plowing on with her speech, "So if we die we just go on to a better place... that or we're reborn as a root vegetable, I'm not really sure which! Anyway, if we win we get lots of prizes, so it doesn't really matter."

I don't feel particularly convinced and I tell her as much, "Are all your family as weird as you or did someone just hit you really, really hard with something?"

"Nope, just me." She beams, "Or maybe my dad, dunno." She sighs as she sees I'm not cheering up, and quickly whips out her arm. I try to pull away but, before I can even move, her hand is wrapped around my wrist and she is gazing down at my palm, "Look, if you need some reassurance, your life line's long. That means you're going to live a long time, so there's no way you can die in some silly Games, no matter what you might think!"

I have to say that, despite my scepticism about her views on how good it is to be in the Games, I have to say I'm a sucker for fortune telling. Call it what you will, but I've always been a bit superstitious, and it's reassuring to know that a real gypsy fortune says I have the skill to get out of these Games alive.

"Wait," I say, "You are a proper gypsy fortune teller aren't you?"

"Well, no," She sighs, "I'm not a gypsy, but I am a proper fortune teller. And I've got a turban, so what more could you ask for?" I guess she's right. At least, even if she isn't some sort of fortune teller, she must know more about fortunes than me, she dresses like that anyway. That weird tattoo on her stomach must be some sort of ward or something to protect her from demons. "Right that's it!" Xio declares, ruffling my hair as she stands and flouncing over to my ensuite bathroom, "I'm going to go take a shower! Your shirt's all sweaty! Get well soon Cessy! I expect to see you up and rarring to go fight by the time I'm all clean and dried off!"

I find myself rolling my eyes again as she slams the door behind her and the water begins to run, but this time there's a smile on my face. I slip out of the bed and am surprised by the fact that my legs don't hurt, which I sort of assumed they would. My tail flicks out, knocking my bedside table slightly as I stand. I run my fingers along my whiskers, enjoying th tingling sensation, and then step over to the spiked mass that is Xio's shirt. It's really going to clash with the tight leather trousers I'm wearing, but it's cold, and I'm afraid that sometimes you just have to be pragmatic and ignore how horrible it'll look.

Only sometimes though, I leave the shirt and opt instead to rap the bedsheet around me as steam begins to trickle out from behind the closed door of my bathroom.

Sitting back down on the bed, I decide to wait for her. I like Xio. She's a nice girl.

Maybe she is a fortune teller. I can't deny she looks the part, and she acts like she knows what she's saying.

But then again, she always acts like she knows what she's saying. How do I know she's not just nuts and I'm turning in to a loon along with her.

I'm not sure that that's such a bad thing.

* * *

><p><em>Dallas Orchid, age 17 (C8)<em>

I needed this.

It took a long time to put the mirrors in such a position that I could see out over all of Panem but, at the end of the day, I'm pretty sure it was worth it.

You see, back at home we have a lot of bathrooms, but by far my favourite is the one on the top floor, with the glass wall so you can look out over Panem. Some may argue that you can't get any privacy bathing in front of a window but really, who's going to see me? Maybe a helicopter flying really low could sneak a peak, but only if they were good enough a flyer to navigate in between all the buildings. If so, they'd deserve whatever they saw, and I wouldn't hold it against them by drawing a curtain. All they can see is hunky old Dallas, of course, half submerged in bubbles.

That's all just academic really, considering they've almost certainly bugged the room anyway, so they're able to see just as much without the mirrors. I'm pretty sure I might have actually covered the camera with a mirror anyway, since Peacekeepers keep knocking on the door to ask if I'm alright, which is starting to really bug me.

All I need now is a good soak, so I can think about what's just happened to me. I've pretty much doomed myself now. My little sister's never going to see me again and, even with all my parents money and power, there's nothing I can do about it. I feel pathetic. Like a District kid. I'm stuck here in this pathetic tower and I can't even buy my way out of it! What the hells the point of all that money then?

It doesn't matter to me anyway any more. I hope Ophelia spends the money well. Buys whatever it is she needs to get over her brother and moves on. I don't want her grieving.

Or I could fight, I ponder, drifting further under the bubbles. But do I want to fight?

Do I stand a chance against all of those rugged District twerps?

Thinking about it, I'm not that bad off. I could probably bludgeon a few of those underfed Capitol rejects pretty easily, but where would I go from then on? I'd need somewhere to slip away to. As they always say, I'd need someone to watch my back and make sure those 'Careers' as they call themselves don't sneak up on me. But that ain't gonna happen. What District kid in their right mind would help me, some Capitol cretin who's so spoilt that he actually bought his own death? Maybe if I was a sweet innocent little girl someone would help me. If I was someone different.

Someone like my sister.

God I miss her. It hasn't even been two days but already I dread what has become of her without me to look after her and tuck her in every night. I can imagine her now, sitting up, waiting for the stupid older bro who's never gonna show 'cos he signed his life away to some crazies from the Capitol. I can't take it.

Is this how District kids feel when they leave their families? I'm so damn sorry for all those dumb things I said about District kids over the years. I had no idea. It's miserable being me at the moment. I wish they that Denair jackass hadn't sent us to our death. You know what, I wish he'd shot us! It would have been better than this, this pathetic worrying. Knowing that I'm gonna die and that there's absolutely nothing I can do about it but remember what a dick I've been over the years.

I'm wallowing in pity here, and I'm pretty sure if I didn't have all that guilt about Ophelia hanging over me I'd take the opportunity of being away from the cameras to drown myself.

It's at this point, when I'm at the height of my misery, staring down in to the bubbles and wishing I had the guts to just slip in to them and end it all, that some prat decides to rap on my door.

Stupid Peacekeeper dolts, I think, slipping out of the water and hastily tying a towel around myself, this time I'll really give them a piece of my mind!

I throw the door open, peering out in to the gloom of Floor Eight and am surprised to see, not a burly thug in some silly uniform, but rather a small girl, her eyes bright and piercing, her puce hair fluttering slightly as a pair of artificial wings flap slowly on her back. I stare at her for a while.

It's odd to see a kid this happy. Most of the other Capitol guys are at least a little disturbed by the fact that they've just found out they're all going to die. I thought I was taking it pretty well by just taking a bath and feeling miserable, but this girl's grinning from ear to ear. Not even the crazy girl in the turban is this happy go lucky.

I'm not particularly fond of her smile. It's much, much to creepy for me. She's probably just trying to look pleasant, but it looks more like she's about to kill something.

There's a long, awkward, pause, in which time the girl looks me up and down, and her smile grows slightly.

"Well," She mumbles, "I see I've finally found the right room. Your certainly a damn side better than that wimpy loser in the last room, even if you look like a freak." I don't really think she's one to talk, what with her wings and all.

"Err, hi?" I respond, and the girl snickers, pushing past me and marching in to the room. She casts an appraising eye over my bath and the huge four poster bed that lies in the corner. She sneers as her eyes pass over the mirrors I've painstakingly set up and then returns her gaze to me, just as I finish pulling a dressing gown on.

"Pathetic," The girl grumbles, "The bodies are gonna start dropping in a few days and you're spending your time rearranging your room? God damn it, makes me wish I'd never come to this floor!" I peer down at her as she paces militaristically back and forth. She might be quite cute, I think, if she'd just stop being so serious.

"Why did you come here?" I ask, and she giggles again.

"Your voice is stupid," She tells me, matter a factly, "Scratch that, you're an idiot. Like I said, we've only got a couple of days and you aren't even bothering to get to know anyone?"

"I didn't think I needed to..." I mutter, suddenly horribly aware of my accent. I've been told people can't hear their own accent, but apparently I have a funny way of pronouncing things. She cuts me off with a shout.

"Ok, stop saying 'I' like that! It's really grating! Look, I just came up here to offer you a place in my alliance, I didn't ask for you to speak, just to listen!" I'm somewhat taken aback by this, and take a step backwards.

"You have an alliance?"

"Of course." She replies, "My alliance. Well, technically District Three's. Apparently no one would listen to a kid like me, so stupid Grey Girl decided to take my rightful position. They think that the four of us should be enough, but you're the biggest guy ouut of the Capitol tributes, so I thought I'd better ask you. Guess I was mistaken." I must admit I don't really appreciate being called a tribute, but I guess we are now, so I'd better get used to it.

"Four?" I ask, "How could you get five of us to join your alliance?"

"Easy, Me, Grey Girl, Snakey and Plant Boy. You can be part of it too if you want, and we're hoping to get some more if we can. Let's face it, featherhead,"Can't this girl learn my name. Ah well, I guess I don't know her's either. I'll call her Wing Chick for now. "Us Capitol kids don't stand a chance unless we stick together. So what do you think? Want to be part of the Capitol Careers?"

Capitol Careers?

Seriously? Well, obviously we Capitolites don't exactly have imagination to fall back on. I'd better hope these idiots are better fighters than they are namers.

"Can I think about it?" I ask.

"You want to die 'Ah' boy?" Wing Chick smiles, her face becoming even more unnatural.

"No!" I stammer, taken aback by her question, "I have a sister I need to get back to! I can't die!"

"Then you're joining our alliance, featherhead, whether you like it or not. Can't promise you you'll live, but you'll have a shot at least." I nod slowly. "Come on. You want to get back to that snotty brat of yours, don't you? You obviously care for your damned family, so help them out and join up with us."

"I don't care for my family." I mutter, "Just Ophelia." The girl looks unimpressed.

"I didn't ask for your life story, featherhead. Well anyway, you want to get back to your sister then. Can't say I agree with you on that but, hey, there's no accounting for taste." I give enough slow nod and walk over to my bath, leaning against it and heaving a massive sigh.

"Look," Wing Chick growls, "I'm just looking for a yes or a no. All you've got to do is tell me whether you're interested and I'll report back to Grey Girl and let her know. So, featherhead, you in or out?" I finally shrug, wiping my eyes and turning back to Wing Chick.

"I'm in." I reply, and the girl's mood lifts.

"Great!" Wing Chick says, gripping me by the hand and shaking firmly and warmly. I look down at her, surprised that now, despite the fact that she's barely said a nice thing for the few minutes I've known her, she looks warmer, more genuine. She's sort of cute actually, when she's not grinning like some sort of maniac or grimacing at everyone around her.

Kind of like my sister, if my sister were some maniac with puce hair. "We'll see you at breakfast tomorrow. I'd recommend the pancakes. Lots of calories and fat in them. Eat as many as you can, you're not going to want to be dieting once we get into the Arena, Featherhead."

She gives a snicker and releases my hand, turning to leave with a flick of her hair. As she reaches the door however I stop her, resting a strong arm on her shoulder and turning her round to look at me.

"What's your name?" I ask.

"Why would you want to know Featherhead?" My face reddens in a mixture of embarassment and barely supressed anger and my grip tightens around her shoulder, causing her to shudder. Does she have to argue about everything?

"Since we're allies."

"So? We're still going to have to kill each other to get out. It's best if neither us know the other's name."

"But I want to know your name."

"Then do me a favour," Wing Chick sneers, "Let go of my shoulder and tell me your name. I know you're an Orchid jock, everyone knows that, but what's your first name, or are tour family too good to give you one?"

"Dallas," I mutter, releasing her shoulder, which she rubs as she pouts up at me. "My names Dallas."

"Good. My name's Angel. District Twelve." She snarls tentatively letting go of her shoulder and kicking the door open. She turns, gives a professional salute and steps out in to the hallway, the door sliding shut behind her. "And don't you dare forget it!" Her voice yells at me as she retreats to her own floor.

I sigh. That girl is a brat. She really is nothing at all like Ophelia.

I drop my towel, pull off my gown and slip back under the water of my ornate, almost pool sized bath.

So, I'm in an alliance now huh? I suppose that means I might be able to survive these Games, if I try hard enough. So, let's see who I've got.

Grey Girl, Snakey and Plant Boy. It's pretty obvious who those guys are, and none of them seem like obvious choices for an alliance. Plant Boy must be District Eleven. He's a pretty weak looking guy, some sort of crazy looking hippy who can't string a sentence together. Grey Girl is obviously District Three.

District Twelve eh?

I must remember to avoid that District.

* * *

><p><strong>Shameless Plug: <strong>Once again, don't forget to check out the 24tributes24authors Tears Of Blood! I write the District Ten male, Boston Williams. I'm afraid the fic is about fifty six chapters in at the moment, so it's quite a read, but it's worth it. All the authors are unbelievably talented, so give it a read! I'll wait...

_A/N: Question of the day: If you were able to be in an alliance with up to five tributes (District and Capitol), who would they be and why?_


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